The Phoenix and the Griffin
by RECKLESS SOLDIER-MS
Summary: The fifth Blight has begun, accused of betraying the king and charged with gathering forces to fight the Darkspawn, Daylen Amell's magic and will is put to the ultimate test. As the Amells of Westeros pray for the safety of their distant son, a mysterious knight begins to make his mark in the game. Meanwhile in Essos, a mercenary embarks on a conquest on behalf of the Targaryens.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A Song of Ice and fire

This fic is a sequel to my story House Amell of Westeros, and the second part of a series I've planned that crosses these two franchises over. In this fic, Thedas and Westeros are in the same universe with both being nations far away from one another, Westeros knows of Thedas and the people have a sceptical belief of the magic and monsters that exist there.

In the previous story, the family of the mage origin Warden, Daylen Amell, went to Westeros and became involved in Westeros politics. This story focuses on Daylen as he fights through the Fifth Blight and the Amell family's reactions to reports on his actions. Meanwhile, in Essos, a mercenary leader begins a conquest on behalf of the Targaryen survivors.

* * *

Game of Dragons

There once existed, two great men, two very different men from different countries and different origins. One destined to be a king, another seeking to be a hero. But to one another, they were simply Aerys and Fausten. Two men, two friends, unaware of the destinies of their bloodlines.

They sat in the red keep, both presiding over a chessboard. The silver haired prince threw Fausten's white knight up and down, taunting him with the knowledge he had just moments ago taken it.

"Tell me birdy," Aerys began, using his affectionate name for Fausten.

The joke originated from the Amell sigil. It was a pattern based upon a bird, none knew what species, most assumed a hawk or eagle, something grand. Aerys believed, from Fausten's unassuming appearance that it was a little bird. They were contrasts to one another, the prince dressed in red, with gold cloth across his chest and a fine leather belt. His friend wore faded leather boots, worn trousers and a dull grey cloak with some loose threads.

"Have you ever heard the story of the Long Night?" the prince asked.

"I can't say I have," Fausten said, moving one of his pieces.

"It tells of the day the White Walkers will return, on a winter colder than any before it, they will march on the wall, the dead rising in their wake," Aerys stated.

"Spooky, and then they'll wipe out the world!"

"Oh, so you have heard the story," Aerys smirked.

"Nope, but that's always the story!" Fausten rolled his eyes and Aerys grinned.

"They will spread across the land, bringing forth an eternal winter, and thus the storm bringer will purge all life and rule over the dead, the Night king," Aerys explained.

"I'm sensing an unless," Fausten said.

"Unless the prince that was promised comes, one of royal blood whom defies death, will command the light and drive away the night," Aerys looked at the board.

He appeared to have the advantage, but Aerys knew Fausten to be a cunning young man. One could not always trust appearances when it came to him. For though Fausten often came across as naive, he was in actuality as clever as the lion of the Lannisters, Tywin, another whom Aerys considered a friend. Fausten however, Aerys knew he was more trustworthy, stronger and smart than Tywin.

"A prince huh? And of course, the story ends with a royal being the saviour," Fausten huffed.

"They are lost without us Faust," Aerys said.

"There's more to those of 'lesser' stock than meets the eye. Some believe it to be great power, or prophecy that drives away evil, I think it's something smaller. The deeds of smaller folk, acts of kindness and heroism, done beyond honour or glory, done for righteousness. Not a prince that was promised, but one and many whom simply made the choice to act, whom stood," Fausten explained.

"Ever the romantic, you should write stories yourself...still, prophecy or chance? Destiny or choice? It would be interesting to see which is greater," Aerys mused.

"You make it sound as if you want it to happen," Fausten said.

"Greatness can only be achieved during a time of crisis, unless you're a noble, then apparently you're already great," Aerys said.

"Greatness can come from the most unexpected places, you'd be surprised just what even the apparently lowest person can achieve," Fausten grinned.

Aerys looked at the board and widened his eyes. Fausten had just taken his queen. He shook his head and laughed.

"When will you drop the facade?" he asked.

"What facade, I really am a fool you know," Fausten said as he took the queen and laughed with his friend.

That and been then, a time when a prince who wanted to be a great king and a boy who wanted to be a hero, sat as friends. But the years rolled past, the boy returned to his land and became a man of great reputation, yet he always felt he fell short of being a hero. The prince became a king, but far from the great king he wished to be. He did though change his country, in a way he didn't expect.

* * *

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 1: Undefeated

James Marcher stood upon a sandy hill, the cloak covering his shoulders and arms fluttering in the wind. Strapped to his hip was an eastern sword from a land very few had visited. A Katana it was called, James based most of his armour on them. Vital parts of him were protected by the fusion of food and steel, but he had freedom of movement. The curved bow on his back was also from that region, as was the helmet he was wearing. He opened the palm of his gloved hand, and smiled at the black queen chest pieces he held. Pocketing the precious trinket, he looked over the horizon, felt the wind and smirked like a hunter whom had found his prey. He turned and walked down the hill, to where his allies stood. They stood in various makes of armour, some cheap, others more expensive. There was no official uniform of armour of the army that James had assembled. Young men, older men, men from the Free Marches, the Free cities, Westeros, even Par Vollen. There stood men and women, elves and dwarves and even renegade Kossith. Fear was in some of their eyes, anticipation in others, and some even held boredom.

"I promised you a battle, a battle upon which our legend will be formed, some of you I know well, others I don't. We stand against a horde of 'monsters', the Dothraki of the Dothraki sea. Some of you have come from villages they have raided, some of you have come from across the sea or in the free cities. All of you came because you expected some sort of payoff, it may not come today or even tomorrow but it will come eventually, when lords are demanding our services as they are the golden company," James explained and the men laughed.

"After this battle some of you may stay, and I will look after you. But I demand things from you first, you will not be like the Dothraki...try to rape another, and I will kill you. Remember this and we may be friends. For honour, for riches, for glory, for revenge or family, or just because you like the sight of blood," James huffed and again a few laughs and chuckles ringed throughout the small army. "I do not care why, so long AS YOU FIGHT!" he yelled and the men roared, raising their weapons. "Follow my orders, my plans, fight as one and stand firm!"

He leapt into the army, grabbing a spear offered to him by one of the men. They stood firm, even as the ground shook and the stampede of horses came over the hill. Garbed in only leather shirts and dark haired, the Dothraki, known as the greatest mounted fighters in Essos, feared in Westeros. James saw a terrifying army, but directed his rage on something very different.

'They are monsters,' he thought, 'monsters nothing more, rape and dominance is their religion!'

He looked to his side, Deacon was from a village hit by the Dothraki. As a boy he was taken to be a slave, his mother and sisters raped by the screamers. Later on he discovered one of the Dothraki referred to it as an 'honour' for the women to have experienced such a thing.

'Monsters, rapists, who deserve everything they are going to get,' James set his rage upon them, holding firm to that belief.

The Dothraki outnumbered them, but James was counting on the weather. The strong wind made it impossible for arrows to be directed as they would. Then the rain began to fall, eventually it would weaken the integrity of the sand, making the movements of the horses sluggish. But there was one thing the Dothraki didn't count on.

_(Dynasty Warriors 8 OST-With Vengeance)_

When the horses neared the ranks of Marcher's army, the ground fell beneath them, and the front line of horses were impaled by spikes. A ditch had been dug into the sand, plenty of water had been used, and many wooden spikes had been planted. Sharpened to the point that they could penetrate a horses skin. Men were thrown from their horses, their screams of fury turned to shock and even fear as they landed amongst the ranks of the army. A dwarf brought his axe down on a dazed rider's head with a furious yell. The Dothraki piled on top of the ditch and those who broke through were struck by spears from the front ranks. James had always been better with a spear than he had with a sword. Stabbing, slashing, in his former life, some people called him the greatest spear fighter to ever live, surpassing the likes of Oberyn Martell. He thrust and thrust, bringing down horse and rider, until the spear snapped. Then he drew his sword and swept clean through the flesh of any Dothraki knocked off of their horse.

The Dothraki were good fighters, even when knocked off their horses. They killed a few of James's men, but for every one they killed, a dozen more Dothraki fell to axe and spear. James slashed a screamer across the chest, then another through the jaw. He walked over the pile of horses carcasses and gripped his sword with both hands. More riders approached, and with perfect timing James disembowelled the horses, or cut the riders off of them. But then he fell back and joined the muster of men fighting one another. He beheaded a swathe of fallen blood riders, stabbing one who had just picked up two swords.

Dothraki Arakhs were impressive blades, got for slashing. But James always wondered why Westerosi knights had a fear of meeting the Dothraki in an open field. Their weapons could do little against full plate armour. In fact, if the Dothraki horde clashed with an army of mounted knights, they would lose, badly. True, as they were doing now, they would take a good many men with them. But in the end, the result would be the same as it would be today. James split through a man's jaw and shoved him aside. He looked towards a Dothraki distinguishing himself with many kills, a Ko, a type of general in the Khalasar. Perhaps it was he known as Jhago or Pono, James cared not for the identity of his attacker, only that he was a second in command of the horde.

_"Stand and face me Ko, prove yourself a real warrior," _James challenged the man in his rough Dothraki tongue, a language he always found difficult.

The Ko replied something about flaying the man with a single strike. James smirked when he blocked the Ko's first strike. He parried the second and elbowed the man in the face. The force behind the blow must have surprised the Ko, after all James surpassed his age by many decades. James ran at the man, assaulting him with a flurry of slashes. He caught the Ko's wrist and then his ear. To give credit to the rumours concerning Dothraki strength, the Ko didn't recall in as much pain as James thought he would. He swung his Arakh at James one last time, James ducked and then swept his blade through his belly.

_(End OST)_

James walked past the dying Ko, swinging his blade, and the blood of his enemy onto the sand. Jhago was clutching his innards, trying to keep them inside. But his efforts were wasted, his head hung low and he bled out. Those whom survived from James army rose and joined their leader. He sheathed his sword and looked up at the sky, watching the clouds, following the direction the flag one of his men held was flowing. The flag wasn't a marker of their allegiance, but a way to read the wind. As the second wave of the Khalasar approached, James smirked. He grabbed the flag and raised it high.

_(Dynasty Warriors 3-OST Yellow Storm)_

It was in the distance, that James's friend Stork saw the flag. An elf, Stork had been nicknamed by James for his bird like eyes. Eyes that made him a great commander of the archery battalion. He stood in Dalish leather armour. The silver haired man raised his bow, an action every archer behind him repeated. They knocked back their arrows and in synch with Stork, released their hold and fired. Drogo's second Ko, Pono was leading his riders on a path to flank the enemy. But the wind, it carried the arrows, straight into the horde. Pono grunted as an arrow struck his shoulder, but he had a high tolerance for pain. He noted the men falling from their horses, they were weak to lose their stallions. Stork released volley after volley, striking the flanks of the riders. Amongst the archers was a young Tal Vashoth, Durad Adaar. Like many Kossith he was horned, and growing to be a large individual. He held his new long bow and smirked. Marcher had insisted on using them, saying they were the best for the range he intended the archers to shoot at. Stork had also trained the archers well, they followed his movements, matched his targeting and shaved the numbers of the Ko's unit.

"FORM UP!" James commanded.

The men and women in James's unit followed him, running to another section of the field. He twirled his finger and several dozen men gathered around him, linking their shields together. The rest formed a ring of shields, spears and swords. At the tip of James's flag was a lance blade. He held the staff with both hands and prepared himself as the Khalasar circled his chakram formation.

"STAND FIRM!" he roared.

Shield bearers stood behind one another, three men in a line, providing one another strength. Like a phalanx, the chakram formation relied on those in it working together to form a complete defence. So when the horses struck the shields, riders were again knocked from their horses. James's formation in the middle of the ring was the blade that struck those men knocked off their horses. He aimed his spear past the men in front of him, piercing the necks and hearts of any Dothraki unlucky enough to get into the ring. The other men around him struck down enemies as well, crashing sword through necks, spears through mouths. Again James waved the flag, signalling Stork's battalion. They fired, hitting the riders on the chakram's 90 degree. James waved the flag again, and again, the archers firing volleys into a different degree and killing many more Dothraki. Pono charged at the Chakram formation, leading a dozen men with him. They slammed into the shield wall, cutting down a few men in it.

"Keep steady," James commanded.

A young woman in the ranks of James formation looked up at the Dothraki. She was a Free Marcher, 'free' to choose her own path. Leather armoured covered her chest and skirt, simple iron greaves and arm bands protected the rest of her body. She held up her shield as well as the other men. Her spear however had been snapped, and she was forced to rely on the blade.

_"A woman, her place is beneath us, I will mount you after this battle!" _Pono said to her.

She knew enough about the ugly Dothraki language (ugly in her opinion) to know that the Ko wasn't saying anything delicate to her. She beat her fist against her chest and left the formation, pointing the spear tip at Pono. He grit his teeth together in anger, placed his legs on the back of his horse and leapt over the formation. His Arakh in hand, he circled the woman.

"Alexa!" James called to her.

She had very much the same features expected from her region of the Free Marches. Tanned skin, brown hair that went to her shoulders, but her eyes were blue and they matched James's when she looked back at him. She had the gaze of someone who did not wish to be protected, but there was something more specific she didn't want from James. He nodded his head and Alexa slid the spear tip through her belt, and drew her Kopis style sword.

_(Sirius the Jaeger OST-Main Theme)_

"Shouldn't we help?" one of the men asked.

Alexa suddenly rushed forward, knocking Pono across the sand with her shield.

"Which one?" the other soldier asked.

Pono jumped to his feet and swung his Arakh into Alexa's shield. He couldn't find a gap in the defence however. Attempting to kick the shield, he was instead launched onto the sand again. He spat the grains out of his mouth, and yelled in fury. Throwing the sand into Alexa's shield, he swung for her legs, catching her greaves. She attempted to hit him with her shield, but he grabbed it and threw her across the sand.

_"You hide behind a shell, Dothraki do not hide, we MOUNT!" _Pono yelled.

He ran at Alexa, kicking her across the head. James took a step forward, then realised that aid was the last thing Alexa wanted. Indeed, all of the Dothraki were holding to watch Pono murder this woman.

_"Like any horse I will break you, show you what your role truly is," _he kicked her in the gut, forcing her to drop her sword and knocking her saliva out of her.

Alexa spat onto the sand again and narrowed her eyes. An image formed in her eyes, of a man standing over her, his spit hanging from his fat mouth.

_"THEN I WILL MOUNT YOU!" _Pono roared as he swung his Arakh for her neck.

Alexa rolled, dodging the blade, then she drew the spear tip and thrust it into Pono's groin. He yelled in agony, blood spurting onto the sand. Some Dothraki yelled out of sympathy, others laughed. He hobbled back, clutching the bleeding area whilst swinging his sword at Alexa. Blood on her lip, she picked up her sword and side stepped the sword swings.

"I assume you were saying something about mounting me, raping me, like I'm guessing you've raped a few women in your time," Alexa said to the man.

She swung her sword, cutting off Pono's fingers, making him drop his sword. Then she punched him across the face.

"Did you beat them before 'mounting them', did you smile as you did it huh?" she asked, stomping on his groin.

She tugged his braid, dragging him across the dirt, leaving a trail of blood out of his groin.

"Did you laugh when they screamed, or where they too afraid, or did you just assume they enjoyed it in some way...did you even care? Or did you consider yourself bestowing them with an honour?" she demanded, stabbing her sword through the back of Pono's leg, pinning him to the ground.

He screamed, a sound not even the Dothraki laughed at.

"Rape is not an honour, violation is not something to be enjoyed, perhaps it's time someone gave you a lesson," she tore away Pono's trousers, cutting his arm when he tried to reach behind him. "This is a lesson to all of you, rape will not be tolerated, if any of you claim another's flesh as your prize, then I'll do THIS!" she roared.

She shoved the spear through Pono's arse, and his blood curdling scream echoed through the desert. A Ko of the great undefeated Khal, died crying and screaming. Alexa ripped the spear out of him and looked to the other men in the army, and of course the Dothraki themselves.

"ANYONE ELSE WANT A LESSON!" she yelled.

_(End OST)_

* * *

Across the sea, was Essos's neighbour, Westeros, where the Targaryens landed and founded a dynasty. That dynasty however came under the control of the Baratheons and Lannisters, and was on the verge of failing. The joining of Baratheon and Lannister was perhaps what kept the land from falling back into war. Baratheons whom had a claim to the throne through their shared ancestry with the Targaryens. The Lannisters, whom due to the efforts of their family head Tywin Lannister, had become the richest and most feared family in the land. But, slowly, a new family was earning respect, coin and power. And some even stated that they weren't even playing the game of thrones. This family was the Amells of the Meadow, formerly the Amells of Kirkwall. Revka Amell, daughter of the deceased Fausten Amell stood by the side of the queen as her companion and care taker of her younger children, the prince Tommen and Princess Mycella. That was supposedly as close to the game as the Amells were getting.

For in the capital of King's Landing, and many of the surrounding villages and towns, the child of Fausten's son, Damion Amell applied her craft. Aristanna shared letters of her name with her uncle Aristide. The girl bore brown hair and a petite frame, and like all Amells she had bright blue eyes. With a crowd of people watching her, she danced. Her white scarf flapped with every spin she performed. She also wore white gloves, a red coat and skirt, none of them were clean or bright, and none of them had cost fortunes to make or own. That was the lot of the Amells, they needed no expensive trinkets, no lavish events or riches. Aristanna's passion was her flute, and she played it as vigorously and skilled as any swordsman. The people watched this young woman play a most beautiful song, about the kinds of things that they took for granted, or had stopped caring for. But in the presence of the 'Melody of the Amells', daughter of the knight whom stood up for the small folk, they cared and cried again.

Southwards, contests of strength were held, jousts, melees, chances for hedge knights to prove themselves. It was there, where Dayla Amell, the second child of Revka fought. Dressed in full armour, she fought in the melee, spear and shield in hand. She was a fighter since the day she was born, coming screaming into the world, resisting her mother until Revka took a firm hand. Her love for her family was strong, though she still pursued her own dreams. Self improvement being one of them, she trained to be stronger nearly every day. Ultimately she wished for control of her own destiny, she would not marry for land or title, nor would she allow another to decide for her. To be a warrior was her dream and she took the chance to show that whenever she could. When her family held a tourney in the Meadow, she entered in secret and became a runner up in the joust. But she didn't test herself in the joust anymore. The dirt was her arena.

Dressed in black armour, blood and dirt having stained it, Dayla was ferocious. She bludgeoned through men with her shield, took punches to her elegant face and rolled in the dirt. A few stubborn knights overreached, they would rather suffer grievous wounds or even die than submit to a woman. And a few paid for their pride, Dayla's efforts were not fruitless, nor did Fausten let her try alone. He wanted her to be ready to fight, wanted all his children and grandchildren to know how to fight. Not simply fighting, not bowing or etiquette or handling weapons, but winning fights. Dayla moved fast, around me, striking them in the back, taking out their legs, hitting them in the groin. The fact that she could win was what made the fight fair, she could parry, block, and counter, her counters were the best. .

When her spear snapped, she beat her opponents with the shaft. A final opponent faced her, and turned out to be the greatest challenge of her day. They both fought viciously, sword against shield. Dayla saw in the knight's form great skill and strength and when she managed to knock her helmet off, she discovered the identity of her opponent. Brienne of Tarth, daughter of Selwyn Tarth, lord of Evenfall Hall. Dayla remembered the tales her grandfather told her of Lord Tarth's prowess, clearly he'd passed on what he knew to his daughter. In Brienne Dayla saw a kindred spirit, a woman who needed to fight. They fought brutally, and when Brienne was declared the winner, Dayla shook her hand in respect. People called it the best duel they had ever seen, though the elders stated that it didn't surpass the one Fausten had with the Mountain. Dayla parted the tournament with a smile on her face, she had learnt all she needed to from it, gained a purse of coin and even found a friend.

In the North, the youngest son of Revka stood in the fields of the villages surrounding Winterfell. He was coordinating efforts to plant and grow new crops. The Stark's words were 'Winter is coming' and they spent much of their time preparing for the winter. For the North was always hit the worst by it, even in the Summer it was a cold region. Dayk stood with some of the finest animal breeders and trainers in the North, and taught them some new methods to care for and strengthen cattle. When Dayk put his mind to things, he could be quite brilliant. Though once referred to as 'the Shame of the Amells', he was beginning to redeem himself. When he met with noble families to discuss trade with the Meadow, he spent more time speaking with elders than he did the heiresses. Though he would look their way, leading many a girl to blush.

Dayla was fair haired, but Dayk, like his brother and many other Amell males, had black hair. His blue eyes scanned documents carefully. Even in the North, there was such a thing as treachery. For hope and trust was a quality many Amells had. Dayk however was jaded, suspicious of others. Honour, tradition and even promises were things he took with a grain of salt. But he knew how to present the best version of himself, a version of himself that people could like. For the Boltons, he was stoic and respectful, for the Glovers he was polite and soft spoken and for the Umbers he was boisterous and loud. He knew that people only really warmed to those whose personality matched them. There were very few people he felt he could be himself around. But there was one among the Starks he could call friend. With the bastard Jon Snow he stood, conversing as a friend and equal. For Dayk knew what it was to be an outsider to his family, to feel as if he didn't belong.

It was a frustrating contrast to his older brother, Dayla's twin, and now lord of the Meadow. Revion Amell, standing atop a hilltop, dressed in black, he watched, watched a land that operated like a machine. People were in synch, there was order, no hunger and debates were settled amicably. The people of the Meadow had a satisfaction that none in any other land in Westeros had. The people loved the Amells, and the Amells loved them. People were allowed to have ideas, allowed to use their talents. And everything a person, was theirs to keep or share if they wished. Revion turned to his wife Selene and smiled. She stood beautifully in her green gown, her auburn hair tied into a tail, bangs drifting over her eyes. Revion was considered the quietest of the Amell siblings, he had been from one lord to another, one region of Westeros to the next. He claimed one bit of knowledge after the other, never satisfied with one bit of wisdom.

He was the quietest, but the most brilliant of the Amell siblings. And the one they all underestimated. Revion Amell, the proper one, the one who married, the one who respected his lords and played the game. The game, that name suddenly came to Revion's mind as he walked to his white horse. Unconsciously, his hand squeezed the creature's neck. The horse let out a whine, forced to its knees. For though Revion was compassionate and quiet at the best of times, there was a savagery hidden underneath it all, and an inhuman strength. Selene placed her hand on his back and smiled, her very presence calming him. He stroked the fur of his horse apologetically and climbed onto his back. He offered Selene his hand and smiled, and without hesitation she took his hand and climbed onto the horse with him. For each village they visited, they were met only with adoration. Not even the most challenging of citizens or criminal dared disturb them. It wasn't just love for those people, but fear as well. Revion's wrath was something no one wanted to earn.

* * *

The Dothraki sea

In the blood soaked lands of the seemingly barren Dothraki region, the horse lords were unknowingly facing the wrath of the Amells as well. James cut down one screamer after another, stabbing his blade through the jaw of a final one. He looked to the horizon, as another wave of riders came towards his group. With a swing of his arm, his group began to fall back, running over the bodies they left behind and up the hill. At the front of the Dothraki horde was its leader, Khal Drogo, called the undefeated Khal because his braid's length surpassed all other Khals. In the Dothraki, when one won a battle, they braided their hair.

_(Dynasty Warriors 3 OST-Arena)_

"So what now old man?" one of James's soldiers asked him.

"We stick to the plan," James grinned.

Alexa shared the sentiment, still high from her earlier kill. She was high on the fear she had filled the men with. None would fuck with her, or try to fuck her, and she liked it that way. Whoever she would take to bed tonight, would be by her choice. And there was never a doubt in her mind that she would survive the day. They crossed the point, and awaited the Khal's arrival. He charged unflinchingly towards them, determined to avenge his Kos and the others slain by the foreigners. Raising his Arakh over his head he roared and the screams of his horde shook the ground.

"NOW!" James yelled.

Drogo commanded his horse to jump, his best fighters jumped too, but others behind them fell through sheets of cloth and sand, into pits of spikes. Sections had been dug into the ground, areas where infantry could walk safely, but horses would collapse into the spikes. One half of Drogo's unit had been cut off from the other. From behind the second half of the unit, dwarves emerged from the dugout pits. They had used their wall shields as paths the horses could walk over, and then as stairs to climb out of the pits. Drogo looked over his shoulder, seeing James's ally and friend Stone. The grey haired dwarf was in armour of the legion, helmet included, crashing a great axe through the flesh of horses and riders. Despite the bulk of the dwarves, they were fast, some jumping off of others and running riders through with their spears.

"Archers," James called out, raising his flag.

A volley of arrows suddenly rained down Drogo's group. They had missed him, but the men around him were not so lucky. He grinned, not just because of the challenge this fight had presented him with, but because he had not just charged blindly. Drogo was not some beast, he too knew of strategy. James however was better. Over the hill came, instead of Dothraki reinforcements, infantrymen led by recruits James had entrusted to intercept Drogo's reinforcements. Led by Asher Forrester, a Westerosi whom James had entrusted with his true identity and leadership of the interception unit. James stabbed his flag into the ground and walked ahead of his men.

"DROGO!" he yelled.

He gripped the sheath of his sword with one hand, and the hilt with the other. Drogo, realising it was challenge and opportunity.

_(Final Fantasy 9 OST-Feel my blade)_

_"EXCELLENT!" _he yelled.

He galloped forward, swinging his sword as he yelled, yelling at the top of his lungs. James however was the picture of patience and calm. He stood low, head bent low, his hand on his sword. Drogo raised his sword as he approached. Then, with a swing of his arm, James drew his sword. Drogo's horse whined, blood spraying from stumps on its feet. The Khal was thrown from his horse, landing in a roll, and looking at his dying mount in shock. That shock turned to rage as he turned to James, then respect as James put both hands on his sword and stood against Drogo.

_"Now you are reduced to my level," _James said, his blood lust grin matching Drogo's.

They rushed towards one another, the flurry of swords and spears around them lost. To one another, they were the only warriors in the world. Drogo swung his Arakh wide and James ducked, swinging his blade for Drogo's gut. But the Dothraki was quick despite his size, jumping back and delivering a vicious hook to James's face. He felt his nose break, but to him it was a minor thing. They parried one another's slashes, ducked and side stepped their blows. Drogo locked blades with James for a moment, then pushed him, slashing his chest. James felt the blade cut his armour, but it didn't penetrate the skin. He countered, slashing Drogo across the chest. It wasn't a fatal blow, but it was a blow that bled. Drogo caught James's cheek with his Arakh, then punched him with the hilt, enough to force him to the ground. James's helmet slipped off in the fight, and he immediately got up from the floor. They locked blades and slammed their heads together. Drogo was astonished, and exhilarated by James's vicious fighting style, never before had he had a fight like this, and the man's age surpassed his by a generation.

'Across the chest, now arm,' James thought, catching Drogo's arm with his sword.

He sidestepped Drogo's swing, cutting his side. Drogo elbowed him and swung his sword for his face. James quickly raised his arm guard, catching Drogo's Arakh. With two quick swings, he cut Drogo's chest and left shoulder. Blood flowed onto the sand and with every swing of Drogo's sword, another bit of blood soaked the grains. On his wrist, his thigh, his belly, back, face, James had stopped parrying and began cutting. His own movements slowed because of his age reduced stamina, but Drogo's slowed for a very different reason. For all the strength of the Dothraki, their mastery of horses and raiding techniques, they put too much faith in speed.

'Armour makes a man slow, it also keeps a man alive,' James remembered someone once saying.

Despite his blood loss, Drogo was still determined to kill his opponent. He swung until his own breathing became ragged, until his vision began to blur and just lifting his arms became a laboured task. James cut an X across Drogo's back, making the man roar out in pain. He cut his arms, cut his legs, bringing him to his knees. And with a final swing, he defeated the Khal who until then was undefeated. James held up Drogo's braid and roared for his victory.

_(End OST)_

A few throats were cut, and more bodies were burned. Horses were kept for the meat, and it was a victory that the Marcher company revelled in. Drogo was chained to a cross, ridiculed and forced to watch as his horse was roasted. James did not consider himself a cruel man, but he knew when cruelty was warranted. He knew when examples had to be made. The man threw water on Drogo's face, just to keep him awake and alive. He drank with his men, but didn't get so drunk that he couldn't keep an eye on them. The slaves that Drogo had taken were given a choice, leave or stay, but they would have to work for their keep. James forbid the women to use their bodies as payment, they would learn laborious tasks as the men would. But the Dothraki women, the pure blooded Dothraki women whom had known the ways of the Dothraki people since they were children, their blood stained the sand just as much as the men did.

"Watch him for me," James told Stone and Stork.

They were two of the people he trusted the most. They would guard Drogo with their lives if they had to. James walked over the hill, away from the torches until he was out of sight of the men. He removed his chest armour and coat, and stabbed his sword into the sand. Looking up at the stars, he remembered the days he looked at them as a child and dreamed. He remembered the days in Kirkwall when he was an adult, and dreamed. And he remembered when he grew older, had children, and eventually a grandson, who looked up at the stars and dreamed.

_(Sirius the Jaeger OST-Definition of Fate)_

James looked at his shaking hands and saw the blood of Dothraki children, children who would have grown up thinking that their beliefs were acceptable. Perhaps there was more to the Dothraki culture than rape and murder, but James did not see it, nor did he particularly want to see it.

'Destroy it all, burn it all,' he thought.

But he could not stop the tears from falling off of his face as he remembered each little throat he had cut. When he had done that, then he considered himself a cruel man. Perhaps a man worse than Tywin Lannister.

"Daylen, I am sorry," he whispered. "I could not save everyone, and I am old now, I cannot fulfil my dream!"

"But he is young old friend," a voice said behind him.

James looked over his shoulder and saw a white haired man, no, the image of a white haired man. An old friend, whom became a mad man. He saw him as he remembered him, handsome, well groomed and smiling arrogantly.

"He'll be young for a long time, which means he'll still have dreams, so he will become a hero, the hero you wanted to be," said the image.

"Yes, he can succeed where I failed," James nodded his head.

"Why do you shed tears for them birdie? You should not feel anymore guilty for their deaths than you should have for mine!"

"They were children, children," James whispered.

"There, that's what separates you from the lion, will you stop? Because there is a longer road ahead of you, and you'll have to stain your hands with blood again birdie!"

"I will not stop," James stood up and gripped his sword.

The image nodded his head, a sad smile crossing his face. Like sand he was blown away by the night wind and James, no Fausten Amell sheathed his sword.

'I will not stop,' he vowed. 'Not until I have restored the Targaryen Dynasty!'

Next Chapter 2: Unshakable

* * *

First chapter, first big battle, and no not the first major character death. Drogo isn't dead yet (will he die though?)

James if Fausten Amell, one of the main characters of the House of Amell series, you'd have to read that story to understand his motives here. The main character of this series as a whole I would say is the Grey Warden, Daylen Amell, who will be introduced next chapter.

My pattern is going to be this, one chapter focusing on Fausten's actions, then a chapter focusing on Daylen, then a chapter focusing on a mystery character, then Fausten, then Daylen and so on and so forth with snippets of the Amell actions in Westeros in all the chapters.

Hope everyone who followed the House Amell story has enjoyed this first chapter, as well as newcomers. I try to make my stories as new reader friendly as possible, but keep in mind this is a sequel.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own A song of Ice and Fire or Dragon Age

Here we are, the introduction of my warden character. Some warning, there will be some changes to the canon of the start of Dragon Age 2

* * *

The Phoenix and Griffin

Chapter 2: Unshakable

Westeros-King's Landing

The one thing that blocked out the smell of shit in King's landing, was the garden. It was common for people at court to walk through it. Revka Amell was such a person, she walked through the garden, holding a book with the only hand she had. It was the price she defiantly paid for striking the prince Joffrey. An act that to this day she still didn't regret. And she wouldn't mind paying the price again. As the Queen's companion, she had been gifted with a gold hand, one she often took off when she visited the orphanage she was the patron of. But today, she had time to herself, time to sit on a bench, enjoy the sun and read a good book. She let out a deep breath of satisfaction, this feeling she had was tranquillity, peace.

'Fuck,' Revka thought.

Phantom pain, it was something she often felt. She had taken her own hand, not out of any respect for the law, but to spit in the face of the blood lust she knew Cersei and Joffrey both had. To see her willingly part with her own hand, and to do so unflinchingly, robbed them of any pleasure they may have gained from it. In doing that, she also protected her niece and her friend from Joffrey and Cersei's wrath. It was another reminder that Joffrey was a violent little shit. When the Amells hosted the royal family at the Meadow, Joffrey had mocked the songs of Aristanna and her friend Zayne. He had taken something Zayne had said out of context, at least that was the official excuse for his violent reaction to the elf. When Joffrey drew his sword on Zayne, Aristanna stepped between them and easily held off Joffrey's sword. But Revka wasn't going to risk her niece's safety, and she despised Joffrey's actions. People had to be held to a standard, even royals.

'Maker, royals and nobles especially have to be held to a standard,' was Revka's constant belief.

So she did what Cersei should have done, slapped the little git across the face. Afterwards she cut off her hand and threw it at Cersei's feet. The action had left the usually smirking queen shocked and speechless. Revka didn't deny it wasn't strange that such an action would be the first step in their friendship. But she had not come to the garden to contemplate her life, rather enjoy it. Finally, she had a moment to herself alone.

'Peace,' Revka closed her eyes and sighed.

"Lady Amell!"

"Now what?" she muttered.

She opened her eyes and saw nothing.

"Ahem, down here, don't tell me you have forgotten my lady," the polite and formal voice belonged to one Tyrion Lannister.

Revka looked down at the youngest of Tywin Lannister's children. Many called him imp and dwarf, but Revka had grown up with dwarf children in her household, many of them were taller than Tyrion. He was what some would call a deformity or monster, but Revka believed neither. He was simply born looking the way he looked. And she considered him and Jamie to be the most honourable of the Lannisters.

"Tyrion, what can I do for you?" Revka asked, putting on a polite smile.

She liked Tyrion, she just wanted a moment to herself.

"We looked for you last night, my chambers were quite lonely," he said.

"I assume there was a woman with you though," Revka said.

"Two actually, lovely ladies actually, you would have liked them!"

"For the last time Tyrion, I'm not going to join you in an orgy."

"You insult me Lady Amell," Tyrion put a hand to his heart, though he still smirked in his good natured way. "I would never dream of trying to seduce my beloved sisters best friend!"

Revka laughed, "I'm as much her best friend as she is your 'beloved' sister," she said.

"You underestimate your worth to us my lady, what is it you are reading?" Tyrion asked.

"Something from Kirkwall, my cousinsaid I might appreciate the work of this," Revka paused to read the back of the book. "Varric Tethras, thought I might give it a try," she shrugged.

"May I borrow it after?"

"Of course, is there anything else?" Revka asked.

"I understand you have yet to take on a hand maiden," Tyrion said.

"I don't need a servant to wait on me hand..." Revka raised her eyebrow, then shot Tyrion a warning look as he smirked.

"Well, emphasis on a single hand, I understand you write your own letters, make your own fires, run your own baths and clean your own body...but I believe you can help this girl, perhaps we can discuss more tonight over Dornish wine and Ferelden mead," Tyrion explained and Revka nodded her head.

"Yes of course," she said.

Tyrion bowed his head in thanks and walked away, whistling 'All men must die'. He had a sense of humour and a fondness for his life not many had. Putting the encounter to one side, and making a note of the subject, Revka continued with what she was about to do. She traced her gold hand across the cover, read the title.

'Hard in Hightown!'

She opened the book and...

"My lady!"

"Oh for fucks sake!" Revka snarled, slamming the book shut.

Varys raised his eyebrows at Revka's attitude. He then rolled his eyes, she had a personality unique to most people in king's landing. The spy master of the king though did like the Amell woman.

"Ah hard in Hightown, good writer Varric, though his subject matter is somewhat tawdry for my tastes," he said.

"What is it Varys?" Revka asked, annoyance in her voice.

"You recall that very special request you had of me?"

"Ah, that request," Revka said, standing up. "Hey, you hiding in the shrubbery, go back to Baelish and tell him to mind his business."

A young man poked his head out of the bush, holding a pair of sheers.

"I'm just trimming the..."

"Oh please, those hedges clearly don't need it, now get out of here," Revka said.

The young man yelped as Revka took a step towards him. He quickly ran the other way, Revka's temper was infamous, as was her fearlessness and willingness to get her hand dirty. She was not abusive to servants or small folk, even when they were spying for people. But she always knew when people where spying on her. She linked her arm with Varys and began walking down the path.

"The rumours of Amell observation skills do not do the truth justice, you truly have the eyes of hawks," Varys said.

"Thank you, but you didn't come here to bombard me with praise did you? So tell me, what news from Ferelden?" Revka asked.

Varys remained silent for a moment, obviously checking himself to see if anyone was watching. Revka trusted Varys's skill as a spy, she also trusted that he may tell a version of the story to the king or queen if they demanded it. Even the kindest of people in King's landing, such as Varys, would betray another to keep themselves alive. And to advance further in the game.

'The very thing that holds this country back, just like in Orlais,' Revka thought.

"You have a certain overestimation of my resources my lady, though I do have a few birds in Thedas, you would only need your one hand to count them," Varys explained.

"Prick," Revka muttered.

"It took time, but I was able to acquire certain information, it confirms what your letter said that King Cailan's royal army was decimated at Ostagar, the king himself and all Grey Wardens slaughtered, with the exception of two," Varys continued and Revka focused on him, her eyes wide in anticipation. "At a place called Lothering, a bird saw them at an inn, a group of Loghain's men recognised and attacked them. With the aid of a Chantry sister, they managed to beat the group, not kill them but make them submit. The leader gave them a message!"

"Which was?" Revka asked.

"That they knew what Loghain had done, that Loghain himself knew, and to tell him they were coming for him," Varys said.

"What did the two wardens look like?"

"One was a Ferelden clearly, blonde haired and somewhat rugged. The other, the apparent leader well, his skin had a tan to it though my bird couldn't tell if he was Rivaini or not, as it was lighter than their skin. His hair was wild and untamed, spiky they eventually settled at. He had burns on part of his face, running to the bridge of his nose as if fire had marked him," Varys paused as Revka gasped. "His eyes though, were a deep red!"

Revka stepped away from Varys and smiled. Her hopes had been rewarded, she knew without shred of doubt that the man Varys spoke of was the one whose safety she had been praying for. Her son, Daylen Amell.

* * *

Outskirts of Lothering

_(Dragon Age Origins OST-Battle of Lothering Village)_

Far across the sea, was the region of Thedas, where magic and monsters had endured. It was in the land of Ferelden where a force dedicated to destruction and corruption spread across the land. From Ostagar it began, destroying what had believed to have been the only army capable of destroying it. And from Ostagar, it marched through the Kokari wilds, towards the village of Lothering. A village abandoned by its lord, leaving the civilians to scatter across the hills with the minute things they had managed to gather. They used pitchforks, shovels and kitchen knives as weapons to defend themselves, or at least go down fighting. For their enemies were truly monsters, the darkspawn.

"MOVE!" yelled a survivor of Ostagar.

Aveline Vallen was a soldier, and a skilled one at that. She had never been afraid of a fight. But even she wavered in the face of the twisted versions of men that attacked her and the refugee caravan. Their brutal weapons tore through flesh, and their ripped out throats with their teeth. Aveline had trained fighting human opponents, overconfident men or fearful lads, not monsters. She looked to her husband, a Templar whom abandoned his post to find her. A romantic gesture, and though Wesley helped gather a few people, he wasn't the fighter Aveline was. He was slashed from behind by a Hurlock, his sword and shield clattering to the ground.

"No," Aveline snarled.

She tackled the Hurlock, punching it across the face before bringing her sword down on its neck. She put Wesley's arm over her shoulder and helped him up.

"They will not have you, not while I breath," she whispered to her love.

People ran across the plains, Hurlocks and the smaller and bulkier genlocks behind them. Arrows flew into the monster's faces and they diverted their course. On top of a grouping of rocks, the archer pulled back her bow and fired. She wore a red shirt, beige trousers and boots. Marian Hawke had abandoned her armour at Ostagar, she arrived at her home of Lothering with Wesley and a handful of other soldiers whom survived the trek through the wilds. Amongst them was her younger brother Carver. The taller and muscular lad was using a club to batter a Genlock until his face was smashed in. Behind him was their mother Leandra. Seeing that her mother was safe, Marian focused on the darkspawn running towards her. She fired one arrow after another, until her quiver was empty.

"Why can't you all just give us a rest?" she huffed, drawing her dagger.

She slashed the throat of one Hurlock, and hit another with her quiver before stabbing it in the throat. A Hurlock then came towards her, shoving her to the ground and raising its axe. Suddenly, flames threw the Hurlock back.

"Having trouble sister," Marian recognised the voice and shook her head.

Her mother had either been gifted or cursed to have two sets of twins. A mage amongst each set, Garret was the first. Marian took her twin's hand and he lifted her off the ground. He had earned muscle equal to Carver's from years of labouring. After their father passed, Garret had to provide some help for their mother. The dark haired man had a scruffy beard, was wearing a short sleeve grey top and a leather belt with fur underneath it. He was holding his oak staff, his hand on the red grip on it, the small dragon head on the tip glowing with magic.

"There's another wave approaching, we need to move quickly," Garret said.

"What do you think we've been doing, admiring the scenery?" Marian asked.

She yanked a few arrows out of the Darkspawn corpses, checking her mother again. Carver's twin was aiming her staff at a group of the Darkspawn. Bethany was a beauty, her hair not like Marian or their mother's. She wore a white top that exposed her midriff, grey sleeves and trousers and a red scarf around her delicate neck. Two belts were wrapped around the chainmail skirt on her waist. Her staff had a ring on the end of it, which glowed as she used her ice magic, creating a flurry of spikes that struck the darkspawn.

"They've been chasing us since Ostagar," Carver said, his yellow shirt drenched in his sweat.

"Our home, everything your father and I built," Leandra whispered, still in shock from having to leave.

"If you had seen that man at the Chantry mother, you'd have realised like I had how important is was to leave," Bethany said.

"We get it Bethany, you liked that man, but where is he now?" Garret asked, shrugging his shoulders and rolling his eyes.

The people of Lothering looked at the Hawkes in shock. Some had known that two of the siblings were mages, and had kept quiet. Others weren't sure whether to be more afraid of them than the darkspawn. But so far, they had been the best protection for them. Even Wesley, part of an organisation dedicated to containing mages, had accepted their help. He coughed weakly, and Aveline and Marian both realised that he may already be infected with the Blight. The sickness carried by the darkspawn blood, the sickness that would seep into the plains of Lothering, ruining it for years. They weren't just destroying the chantry or the houses, but the very land itself.

"We need to move now," Marian said.

They joined the group of refugees, not even half of the village. The rest were either dead or scattered.

"That man said we should go to Redcliffe," Bethany said.

"We should go to Kirkwall, doesn't uncle Gamlen have an estate?" Garret asked.

"Too many Templars, besides cousin Revka sent us a letter telling us the bastard lost the estate," Marian said.

"Let's just try to get out of here alive," Carver said.

"And then what? We can't just wander aimlessly."

"I'm not suggesting that!"

"Enough you two," Marian snapped at her bickering siblings.

They ran up a desolate hill, that overlooked the paths to many of the places in Ferelden. A few people stopped to catch their breath. Then they felt it, the ground shake. For a moment, Marian thought 'damn the dragon has come for us'. But there was no flap of wings, no great gust of wind that would have signalled the arrival of a dragon. There was however a thudding sound, something crashing to the ground repeatedly. Looking over the hill, the people gasped when they saw what it was. Marian realised too late that the thudding was footsteps. They saw the horns of the towering creature, the plates of armour on its scaled skin.

"OGRE!" Marian yelled.

It stampeded through a group of people, throwing them aside like dolls or squashing them. Marian, Garret and Carver dived to the right, and Aveline and Wesley to the left. The ogre slid across the ground, roaring as it turned to Bethany and Leandra. Bethany stood in front of her mother, her staff raised to protect her.

"Maker give me strength," she prayed, knowing she didn't have a chance.

With a thrust of her staff, she launched a fireball at the Ogre. But the monster blocked the flames with its arm and approached Bethany.

"BETHANY NO!" Leandra screamed as the Ogre grabbed her daughter.

_(Attack on Titan OST-Reluctant Heroes)_

Suddenly, there was a flash of lighting and a bolt slammed into the Ogre's eye. It dropped Bethany to the floor and she quickly rolled to her mother. There was another bolt and a man suddenly appeared in front of the two women. He was wearing grey clothing, including a hooded jacket, baggy grey trousers and a pair of gloves. Boots with wooden armour on his heels covered his feet, and a boiled leather belt across his waist. On his exposed sleeve, Bethany noticed that one of his arms was scarred by burns, to the point that made Bethany wonder how he could move his arm. A small round shield was covering his wrist and strapped to his belt was a dagger.

"Who?" Bethany looked at the new arrival curiously.

The ogre roared and swung its arm towards the hooded man. With a shimmer of red, he side stepped the fist. Lighting crackled around his arm and shield and he dragged it across the Ogre's arm. The creature roared in pain, clutching its bleeding wound and recoiling from the wound. With his other hand he gripped a ball of ice. Then he thrust it forward, throwing it into the Ogre's mouth. The ball exploded, icicles piercing through the Ogre's eyes and ears. It slammed back first into the ground and the warrior braced himself as more Darkspawn ran towards him.

"Ten Hurlocks, eight Genlocks, two Alphas, an Emissary, and four Shriek's...WHO THINK THEY CAN HIDE!" the mage raised his hand, and bolts of lightning crashed down around him.

In an explosion of smoke, four Shriek's were revealed and electrocuted. Two however were still alive, lashing their claws at the man. He stepped back, barely dodging and blocking their blows. Suddenly, a dagger pierced through the eye of one Shriek. Then, a blonde haired man rushed past the other Shriek, splitting its head with a pick axe. The blonde haired man had short hair and stubble on his chin. Grey and brown Templar armour covered his body, the kind that offered limited protection for recruits. In his other hand he held a knife.

"I thought you said you weren't going to risk your life at close range," the blonde haired man said.

"Not unless it's for someone," the hooded man said.

"That voice, it's him mother, the man from the Chantry, who calmed the Chasind," Bethany said.

She got off the floor, just as a fireball slammed into a Hurlock Alpha, burning its armour. A red haired woman ran past Bethany, picking up the dagger from the dead Shriek and stabbing through the Alpha's mouth. Strangely, the red haired woman was in the red, yellow and black robes of the Chantry. Bethany recognised her as Leliana, one of the lay sisters, she had Orlesian heritage and had a good singing voice. She however held the dual daggers like a true master of them.

"Take out the emissary first, Alistair!" the hooded man said.

"On it," the blonde haired man began running forward.

He threw his hand forward, releasing a spark of light that cast aside the poisonous vapours the Darkspawn mage generated.

'So he is a templar,' Bethany thought.

The young man smashed the Emissary across the face, then gutted it with his knife. Leliana ran a Genlock through with her dagger, throwing the other one into an archer's chest. She rolled to the corpse, picking up the bow and shooting another Hurlock in the face. She ran back, knocking another arrow as two Genlocks approached. There was a sudden growl, before a brown haired Mabari jumped over the Lay sister. He sunk his teeth into the Genlock's shoulder, and using the momentum from his pounce threw the little monster into a pile of rocks. The Mabari ran around the other Genlock, giving Leliana time to shoot both dazed Genlocks.

"ALPHA!" the hooded man yelled, blocking the sword of a Hurlock.

The Mabari responded to what was clearly his name. He ran and sunk his teeth into the Hurlock's heels, distracting it enough for the hooded man to stab the Hurlock in the neck.

"STEN!" the mage formed a flame in his hand.

He let loose a cloud of fire on the Hurlocks and Genlocks in front of him. Leandra gripped Bethany's arm, seeing a giant of a man rush through the flames. He was in simple clothes, the kind they gave prisoners. In fact, Bethany recognised the man's dark skin, and his cornrows of white hair. The Sten, not a name but a title, people in Lothering knew him either as the Qunari, or the murderer. He was holding a club, and used the same strength he had used to crush a farmer and his family, to bash in the heads of the Darkspawn.

"Such a bloody sight isn't it?" a voice asked behind Bethany.

She turned to a strikingly beautiful woman. But there was a wildness to her, a simple red rage barely covered her chest, dirty pearls and a necklace covered her delicate neck. But her exposed arms were toned from exercise, fingerless gloves covered her hand and a black armour was on her shoulder. The dark haired woman held a staff made of wood, the end of it resembling a branch. But it was a mage staff, as evidence when the woman twirled it and shoot two Hurlocks with mana bolts. She tripped another, savagely stabbing it through the mouth with the tip of the staff.

"If you are unused to such sights, then you should run!" the woman said.

"FALL BACK TO THE HILL!" the hooded man ran, with his companions. "MORRIGAN!"

_(Dynasty Warriors 6 OST-Rock and Roll Over)_

"Don't get used to giving me orders," the wild woman said.

Fire glowed on the head of her staff. She thrust it forward, just as the other mage threw his arms forward. Then were drawing a line of fire between them and the Darkspawn. Noticing this, Bethany ran away from her mother and thrust her staff forward. Garret quickly did the same thing, grinning as he looked over at the wild woman, desire already filling his head. The draft from the flames threw off the grey mage's hood, revealing his wild brown hair, his tanned and partially burnt skin.

"You," Bethany whispered.

Once the line of fire had been drawn, the grey mage ran to the hill.

"EVERYONE! DO NOT SEPERATE! FOLLOW THE PATH TO REDCLIFFE!" he yelled.

"He's right, come with us to Redcliffe, you will found shelter with Arl Eamon there," Alistair said.

"You all know me, I trust this man with my life, move as one and you will be safe I promise you," Leliana explained.

"Sister, they were from Ostagar, the Grey Wardens," Carver said, grabbing Marian's shoulder.

"Everyone, listen to me, you've known me for years, please trust my brother and I when I tell you these men are Grey Wardens," Marian said.

"Grey Wardens," the villagers began to mutter amongst themselves, looking at the grey mages group with apprehension.

They saw someone whom Loghain had accused of betraying the king. Someone whom was collaborating with the Orlesians, the nation that enslaved the Ferelden people many years ago. A man who had released a murderer, the Sten. A mage, a man part disfigured from burns. Marian walked to the mages side and looked at the villagers.

_(Dynasty Warriors 8 OST-Seventh Journey)_

"I can tell you without shred of doubt that this man...is the best hope you all have!" Marian said.

"WARDEN!" Sten yelled.

The Grey Warden moved to the Qunari's side. A gap in the flame wall had formed, and rows of blighted wolves began running through it. A Hurlock Emmissary walked behind them, cackling with a Dozen other Hurlocks behind him.

"Listen to me carefully, if you want to survive this, do exactly as I tell you," the mage said, walking to the villagers. "Any man holding a spear or rake, step forward and form a line. You two mages," he referred to Garret and Bethany, drawing them towards him. "Do you both know Earth and ice magic?" he asked and they nodded. "Good, raise the ground to this height," he held his hand up to his waist. "You," he pointed at Aveline, "Leave your husband in the care of one of the Lay sisters, I need people who know how to use swords, if he can't lift his then give it to someone else!"

Aveline knew the voice of a commander, though there was youth on the man's face, he had the pose and voice of a leader. The villagers had no idea what kind of plan he was making, only Aveline had a vague idea of what it could be. And she had faith in that plan, she obeyed his orders and left Wesley in the care of Leandra a few other non-combatant woman. She caressed his face a final time and drew her sword, joining a few villagers who had their own swords. Sten picked up Wesley's sword, tested its weight and nodded in approval.

"Morrigan, help me empower their blades," the Grey Warden put his hands together, both his index and middle fingers were held up and pushed together.

He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. Morrigan rolled her eyes and raised her hand. The villagers gasped in awe as steam of ice spread across their blades. The mage separated his hands, drawing his dagger from his belt, ice spread across it as well.

"Leliana, you and the other archer stay behind us, as soon as you see the Hurlocks, you hit them with arrows, but make sure you kill the Emissary first. Alistair, take up a spear and get to the front," again the mage gave commands, and his companions followed.

His Mabari snarled as the Blighted wolves ran faster and faster towards the rocks and the villagers.

"Hold steady," Alistair said, reassuring the men beside him.

"Men in front, thrust your spears only when I yell snake, men at the back, thrust your spears upwards when I say dragon!" looks of confusion crossed the faces of the people he led.

The wolves drew closer, and closer, Sten frowned at a man whose legs shook. The fact that the giant was behind him was the only thing stopping him from running.

"Create ice spikes on our flanks, now!" the warden commanded Garrett and Bethany.

They did just that, and the mage closed his eyes again. Much to the wonder of both Lothering mages, their ice spikes crackled with electricity. The wolves ran towards the rocks, and pounced.

"SNAKE!" the mage yelled.

Alistair and the men thrust their spears, skewering the wolves that pounced over the rocks. A second line of wolves however jumped over the front spear men.

"DRAGON!"

But the spearmen behind them thrust their spears upwards, hitting the bellies of the wolves. They slammed them to the ground, and the swordsmen led by Sten and Aveline finished the wounded creatures off. Marian and Leliana knocked back their bows, seeing through the gaps in the rock and ice. They released, hitting two Hurlocks that the Emissary commanded to rush forward. More of the Hurlocks ran, taking hits from arrows.

"Conserve your arrows and aim for the Emissary," the mage commanded.

Leliana and Marian took deep breaths, focusing their aim. Their arrows flew true, both skewering the eyes of the Emissary. But to their shock, that didn't stop the Darkspawn mage. It threw its arms forward, commanding the other Hurlocks to charge. They climbed over the rocks, and were impaled by spears and rakes. Alistair shoved his spear through a Hurlock's mouth and shoved one that was about to attack an old farm hand. He drew his knife and stuck it through the monster's eye.

"Swords, get ready to shove your blades through their heads when I say thrust," the mage held his burnt and shielded arm up.

A red blur of energy appeared in front of the spear men, the Hurlock's blades clanged against the faded wall.

"A mana wall, a perfectly shaped wall," Morrigan gasped, looking at the mage with an intrigued expression.

He moved forward, raising his dagger, the other swordsmen kept their blades raised. They moved towards the wall, the glow in the mage's arm becoming more intense the closer he got. He glared at the darkspawn through the wall and readied his dagger.

"THRUST!" he roared.

They did just that as the field disappeared, impaling the feral darkspawn in front of them. The mage raised another field just in time, blocking the fireballs of the emissary. His arm shook and he slouched, falling to one knee. The Emissary continued to cackle and bombard his field with flames. When the field passed, Leliana and Marian were at the mage's side, they had their bows drawn back.

"Let's see if you can survive this you tough bastard," Marian said.

She and Leliana released their arrows, hitting the Emissary in the throat and chest. The Emissary fell back, slamming to the floor.

_(End OST)_

The Grey Warden let out a sigh of relief, wiping his hand across his mouth.

"Everyone, we need to start moving to Redcliffe, now!" he said.

"WESLEY!" Aveline yelled, running to her husband's side.

"We don't have time for this," Sten said.

"Alistair, get everyone moving, I will stay with them," the warden motioned to Wesley and Aveline.

He helped Aveline rest Wesley against a group of rocks. The young man nodded to Alistair, who sighed and led the group away. Aveline looked at the warden as he crouched beside Wesley.

"The taint, I can feel it," Wesley said.

"I can't make you a grey warden, I don't have what I need to do it," the mage said. "That is the only way to treat it!"

Wesley looked to Aveline, his skin had gone pale and black veins spread across his face.

"The taint is a slow death, please Aveline, I can't..."

"You cannot ask this of me, please don't!" the warden saw the tears well up in the woman's eyes.

_(Kingdom Hearts OST-Xion Theme)_

Gone was the strong woman he had met at Ostagar, gone was the warrior. Here was the woman laid bare, her true feelings, her true self. There was a gentleness in her touch, but a strength in the grip as well. She clung to her husband, denied the truth, as anyone whom truly loved would.

"He will only suffer more, but he is your husband, the two of you...this decision must be in your hands...I will end his suffering only if you both permit it, the choice is in your hands," the warden drew his dagger and held it to Wesley's heart.

Wesley coughed, looking at Aveline with love before he looked to the warden.

"I know your eyes, I have heard tales spread through the order. The eyes of a man marked by demons, a man destined to be taken by them...but now I see, what you did today, those were not the actions of a monster," the templar explained.

"Wesley," Aveline whispered.

"Live on my love, I will see you again one day," Wesley said.

Aveline let out a cry of anguish, resting her hand on the pommel of the Warden's dagger. He took her other hand and put it to Wesley's hand. They locked fingers tightly.

"Close your eyes Wesley," the warden said and Wesley did that.

"Think back to the moment you realised that you loved your wife, that this was the woman you wanted to be with, this is not the end...it is not the end. Now picture what lies beyond, what a man of the chant deserves...the white shores and the far green country, under a swift sunrise," he lowered his head as he spoke.

Wesley let out a sigh, and he gasped as Aveline pushed the blade through his heart. She let out a scream, pulling Wesley's lifeless form into an embrace. The mage stood and looked down at Aveline.

"I am sorry, but we cannot stay long, if you do not wish to follow then I will not try to talk you into it. But if you run now, I will see to his body, the way the Chantry would," the mage raised his hand, fire flashing in it.

Aveline crossed her husband's hands together, placing a kiss on his forehead. She picked up his shield and ran, that same strength she had at Ostagar returned. The mage unleashed the flames on his arm on the templar corpse. A funeral pyre, and a means to prevent demonic possession of the soulless body, to also keep the darkspawn from ruining him. He turned and ran.

_(End OST)_

* * *

The group joined with a caravan of refugees from Lothering, those whom had heeded the wardens warning. In addition, a Dwarven merchant also joined the refugees. Bodahn and his seemingly simple minded son had no food to trade, only trinkets. They had some poultices, which they gave out to the sick. The warden kept his hood up as he interacted with the dwarf. He sold his dagger and a few materials for traps he wasn't going to use. Then he brought a bowl and mortar for herbs he had gathered on the road, and a set of shoulder armour. One of his companions needed some form of protection, the Sten had removed the clothes he was put in as a prisoner, he accepted the Wardens gift with a simple nod and began sharpening Wesley's sword, his sword for now.

"What are you attempting to do?" Morrigan asked the warden, seeing him try to use the mortar to crush some Elfroot.

"We'll need poultices of our own, this is a cheaper way to make them," he said.

"Are you attempting to meld herbs or butcher meat?" the wild witch scoffed.

"He was doing quite well for a beginner," Leliana said, using a knife to sharpen and shape a stick she had found.

"You my dear know as much about the wilds as this circle raised buffoon, leave it to me," Morrigan said.

"Can you show me?" the warden asked. "I wish to learn."

Morrigan huffed, though gently took the bowl and mortar from the warden and began to show him the proper procedure. The caravan had stopped to rest, to take in bread and water, and to give thanks to the Maker and one another that they were alive. Some set up tents, others huddled together by fires. But a watch was set up, Lothering may have been far behind them, but there were still threats. Leliana had fashioned the stick she had taken into a bow, selling the Darkspawn bow to Bodahn for some coin. Alistair and the warden sat side by side together at the fire, the Mabari Alpha resting against his master's arm.

"You did a good thing today, Morrigan and Sten were right in that it would have been easier," Alistair said.

"But I couldn't leave those people, especially to the darkspawn," the warden said.

"I told you Leliana would be useful too, she certainly proved her skill."

"It was never her skill I questioned Alistair, just her motives."

"I admit the whole 'the Maker told me to help you' is a bit strange," Alistair muttered.

"Alistair, she's an Archdemon short of a blight!"

"Yeah but she's more 'oooh, pretty colours' than 'mwahaha, I'm princess stabbity, stab, stab, kill,' though she certain seemed that way with the darkspawn earlier," Alistair explained.

Both he and the Warden laughed. Since they had met at Ostagar, they had begun to become friends. Surviving Ostagar, the wilds and Lothering only solidified that friendship. They stopped laughing however when the warden looked into the flames, his expression going sombre.

"If I were to tell you that I don't believe in the Maker, in any form of it, would that bother you Alistair?"

"I've known people who don't have faith, that doesn't bother me in the slightest," Alistair shrugged his shoulders.

"I told a lie today, to make someone else felt better. That templar, I told him all about the beyond, about life after death and heave. Came out with some crap about green fields and skies...but it isn't true," the warden explained.

"Day, you don't have to believe something, you said it to make his passing easier, to make his last memory something good," Alistair said.

"But I know it isn't true," the warden shook his head. "I died once, and there was nothing, I saw nothing but darkness!"

"Maybe that's the price of coming back, not remembering," Alistair smirked.

"No, the price of coming back was losing a girl I loved, Surana, she would have gone to Ostagar instead of me, she was a better mage after all and a better person, she deserved to live and she gave her life up for me," the warden slammed his fist into the ground.

He stood up, Alpha whining as his master stroked him.

"I'm sorry, I said something depressing," he said before walking away.

"Daylen," Alistair called out, making his fellow warden look over his shoulder. "You are a good man, you did something worth doing today, your friend's life, it wasn't wasted!"

The warden didn't nod his head, he still wasn't completely convinced. But he did appreciate the words of his new friend. He walked to his bed roll, removing his shield and keeping it close by. Removing a whetstone from his pack, he began dragging it over the edge of his shield. In the absence of a sword, he would use the shield as a weapon.

"Excuse me?"

He looked up, seeing Marian Hawke and her family.

"We wanted to say thank you for earlier," Bethany said.

"No thanks is necessary," Daylen continued sharpening his shield.

"That man called you Daylen," Marian said.

"Did he mean Daylen Amell?" Garrett asked.

The Warden stopped sharpening the shield and looked the ground. Amell, a name that belonged to a noble house. But he was a mage of the circle, raised on books of magic and harsh lessons from his teachers and templar guards. Now he was a warden, a tainted man, a man whose life was dedicated only to fighting the darkspawn, no matter who had to die.

'Daveth, Jory,' Daylen remembered the thief who died in the joining, and the knight who was murdered by the warden commander to protect the order.

"I'm just Daylen," he said.

Leandra walked past Marian, stepping over Daylen. She cupped his cheeks, tilting his head up so she could look into his red eyes. Daylen's eyes widened as he looked at Leandra's face. He always thought Marian looked familiar, now he knew why.

"No, it can't be," Daylen whispered.

"Daylen," Leandra said.

He stood up and backed away from Leandra.

"You can't see me like this," he traced a finger across his burns.

"You are him, my cousin Revka's oldest son," Leandra said, touching Daylen's face. "Look at you, you've grown into the man uncle Fausten and Revka always knew you could be," she explained.

She pulled Daylen into a hug, one that made Bethany and Garret cry.

"Weak," Carver shook his head.

"I see a tear in your eye too brother," Marian smirked.

"I'm not crying, there's just something in my eye," Carver huffed, looking away from the scene.

Garret grabbed Carver by his shirt and pulled him with their other siblings to Daylen and Leandra. He looked at them, and saw in each the eyes of the Amell family. Then he let the tears of joy fall.

After so long, he had finally found his family.

Next Chapter 3: Lionheart

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, I wanted to capture the struggles of the characters, but also Daylen's tactical skills as this is a war story in at least two aspects of it. Also, I love Amell reunions. The Hawkes will play roles in the story, but they will eventually end up in Kirkwall.

The canon character looks I would say are based on the first tier models from the Heroes of Dragon Age game, with the characters tier/armour changing as the story progresses.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire or Dragon Age

Well, Game of Thrones is over.

Opinions have been divisive, from bittersweet sadness to disappointment, to rage. My own opinion is sort of a mix between all three, as fans we'll always have ways we want to see a story end, and it is difficult to please everyone. Without spoilers (if you consider a statement about opinions on the ending a spoiler, you have a very broad term for spoilers) (also, kind of a fact, you're browsing ASOIAF fanfiction, so of course there are going to be spoilers) my own view of the ending is I can understand why certain things happened, I didn't agree with some things but I see the logic behind them, would it have been how I ended things? No

Anyway, enough Game of Thrones, onto Game of Dragons. This chapter introduces the third Protagonist of this part of the series, as well as another central character in the series who isn't an Amell.

* * *

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 3: Lionheart

The man in the red hood looked at his book as the waves crashed against the ship. He held it with one hand, his eyes tracing over the text.

"Those whom lost and were forgotten in one region, were remembered in another, remembered forever as gods," he said.

Snapping the book shut, he turned to the woman in red, her matching hair flowed with the wind. They were going to Storm's end, seat of the Westerosi king's brother, heir in the event of the passing of the king's family, or if that family was not of the king's blood. In the distance, another ship was leading a small fleet. On that ship, 'Black Betha' was one of Stannis Baratheon's most trusted knights, one could even go so far as to call him the Lord of Dragonstone's best friend. He wore simple clothes, matching his origins as a low born. A pouch hung around his neck, a reminder, just like the missing fingers on his left hand of his life as a smuggler. Behind him stood two of his charges, his son Matthos and Stannis's ward/hostage from the Iron Islands, Asha Greyjoy.

The girl had cut her hair extremely short, looking more like one of the boys on the ship. When her father Balon began a rebellion many years ago, she had born witness to the naval battles around the Iron islands. The Iron islanders prided themselves for their skills on the sea. Though they had destroyed the Lannister fleet and had certainly taken the lives of many warriors, they were bested due to the combined efforts of Stannis Baratheon's fleet, and the tactical genius of one Fausten Amell. He composed strategies to limit the power of the Iron born fleet, utilising ships built for outmanoeuvring and also ramming the Greyjoy fleet.

Asha remembered the tales spread amongst her people, of the prowess of Fausten Amell on the decks of Iron born ships, the many men who fell to his spear. Then there was the word spread amongst the common folk. When Baratheon and Stark armies hit the beaches, and attacked the villages, an Amell stood to protect them. Damion Amell was remembered in the iron islands as a hero. Asha had no interest in heroes, but she did acknowledge that the man had done more for the island's people than any of their lords had. He was killed that day, but remembered forever.

But what Asha remembered the most was the day her father bent the knee. The day she learnt he was no hero, no king, not even a father to her. The terms were clear, he could stay lord of the Iron islands if he bent the knee and gave both Asha and her brother Theon away. Part of her realised it was a plot of Fausten Amell's to turn her against her father and the ways of the Iron born. But there was an aspect of their ways she would never cast aside.

'What is dead may never die,' Asha remembered the ways of the drowned god, the ways of her people.

Davos and his family kept to the ways of the seven, though Davos himself wasn't what could be called a devotee. He kept to his gods and let others keep to theirs. But Asha could see the disdain in her captain's eyes as the ship from the East approached. At the front stood the lady Melisandre and her companion, an elf woman in a red robe.

"Why are we dealing with these people?" Asha asked.

"Lord Stannis has heard the spider speak of magic in the lands of Thedas, himself and Lord Arryn wish to know more of magic, if it is indeed real, apparently these red priests have been to those lands. Perhaps they could give credit to what the Amells claim, that magic well and truly exists," Davos explained.

The man in the red hood chuckled as the ships met.

"It begins, the joining of two regions, and the first turns of the real game!"

* * *

The cart driver let his horses trot, he had to do little to control them. They knew where they going, it was where they had been bred to go after all. Carrying their passenger was the only reason they existed, as it was his only reason for existing. He looked over his shoulder, through the gap in the white sheet. His passenger was sitting against the sheet, hands on his elbows. He was wearing a white coat with silver scales on the front and back, the inside of the coat was red and ended at two flaps at his back knees. Red and silver gauntlets covered his hands and gold buckles were on his knee length brown boots. When the cart came to a halt, the passenger raised his head.

"Carrier, is there something wrong?" he asked.

"It depends on your definition of wrong," the driver said.

"Are a group of people blocking our way?"

"Yes!"

"Hmm, so depending on their state, there may not be anything wrong, do they look hungry?"

"I don't know what a hungry human looks like, you all eat when you don't have to anyway."

"True that," the passenger put a hand to his chin.

He had a very refined way of speaking, his voice oozed arrogance and the belief he was superior to all. In contrast, Carrier, strained, his voice seemed hollow and as if they were coming from the mouth of a dehydrated man. In fact, one look at Carrier and you would assume he was dead, his bone like arms protruded from the sleeves of his baggy brown robe. A hood covered his face, but his exposed chin was deathly pale and thin.

"Are they armed?" the passenger finally asked.

"Yes," Carrier said.

"Excellent," the passenger clapped his hands together and jumped to his feet.

The passenger jumped out of the carriage, putting on his head a helmet. It was black and red, and included a mask that covered his face. The mask lacked any kind of decorated, save for the lines on it. It had a sinister and intimidating appearance to some, an amusing one to others. He held a scabbard with a short sword in it.

"Beautiful day isn't it?" the passenger asked.

"Yeah it's fucking wonderful, now what's in the cart?" the leader demanded.

The passenger looked at the group of men. They were lowborn, as he suspected from their clothes. One carried a mace, another a knife, two had clubs and the last of them had fashioned a piece of metal into a type of knuckle duster. Their builds were varied, but they all had the confidence and poise of men who were used to bullying, and if that didn't work, simply taking what they wanted. The fact that the leader's mace had blood on it was a sign he was used to killing.

"Yes, you'll do nicely," the passenger nodded his head.

"Are you having a laugh boy, your highborn father may have given you fancy clothes and a sword, but that bowing and parrying shit isn't going to do you..."

"Could we please just skip to the part where you try to kill me, please, I'm not asking for much!"

"You're fucking mad," one of the men said.

"Boooring, come on already, if you don't come at me, well, I'll just have to come at you," the young man sighed as he began to walk towards the thieves.

"I'm tired of this boy, now you put down that blade OR MY MATES AND I WI..."

The ring leader with the mace never finished, as the passenger rushed forward. He drew his sword, swinging it through the handle of the mace, slicing the thief's throat. Blood sprayed across the grass and the man clutched his throat, his legs thrashing about as he rolled across the floor. The young man looked at his sword and shook his head.

"I'm not as good as I thought, I was intending to just cut through your mouth," he said.

The men with the clubs yelled and ran at him. He threw his scabbard into the face of one man, and punched the other in the face. Then he slashed the man across the side, kicking his body on top of the other man. Picking up one of the clubs, he tapped the fallen man's head once, before smacking him so hard that his teeth were knocked onto the grass. A scream echoed in the field and both the knife wielder and the man with the knuckle dusters ran at the man. The knife wielder was quickly cut down, but the man with the knuckle dusters managed to punch the young man's helmet off. He quickly countered, hitting the man with his club.

"I like it when people draw blood from me, impressive," the young man said.

He looked to the man he had knocked down earlier. The thief had thrown off the body on top of him and had begun running off of the road, down a hill, stumbling in his terror.

"Pathetic," the young man muttered. "Well, they wanted to know what was in the cart, OMEGA!" he yelled.

There was a roar like a Cheetah, and a black blur rushed out of the carriage. The fleeing thief looked back, and then screamed. After a few minutes, the young man crouched as his companion approached. He was of a rare species of cat, the feline equivalent of a Mabari, being of similar size and intelligence. The cat had the face of a Cougar, the ears of a lynx and the ferocity of a tiger. His fur was pitch black, but his eyes were red. The most recognised name of the beast was a Dire cat.

"Good boy Omega, you had yourself a nice snack didn't you?" the young man asked, stroking his partner's head.

Omega purred and rolled on his back, letting his master rub his belly.

"Did you save anything?"

The Direcat spat a tongue into his master's hand. He held it up and grinned, before dropping it down his throat.

Borosi awoke with a start, looking at his captors in shock and fear. He wasn't tied up, but he knew that the boy could kill him if he wanted. A camp fire had been made, and the boy was sitting on a rock, rolling a spit with meat that Borosi didn't recognise. The massive cat was ripping into a piece of the cooked meat, whilst the freak that rode the cart was chewing on small mouthfuls.

"Ah, you're awake, good," the boy sliced off a piece of meat and walked over to Borosi. "Just in time, this is when the meat is at its best," he tossed the meat onto Borosi's lap.

"Please, please," Borosi raised his hands defensively.

"Please? Please? Please what? Oh come on you're twice my size, have some balls at least. Besides, I'm not going to kill you, you would never have woken up if I wanted you dead, I would have fed you to Omega here," the boy pointed his thumb at the beast, which was licking its lips as it looked at Borosi.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said.

"Oh stop, you're going to make me laugh, which isn't why I let you live," the young man sat in front of Borosi and smiled. "You're pretty strong right? You can do some amazing things with those fists right?" he asked.

"I...I don't understand," Borosi quivered.

"Well let me make it clearer, you have calluses on your knuckles, you're a big guy and you've got some scars on your face that match what a fighter would have so let me ask you this, you fight a lot don't you?" the boy asked.

"Yes, I do, but just boxing..."

"Or beating people for their gold right?"

"Y-yes," Borosi said.

"Little people, people who can't defend themselves, people who don't hit back, that's what your boss had you do isn't it?" the boy asked.

"Yes, yes, I just did what he said," Borosi said.

"Is that it? Come on, be honest!"

"All right, I enjoy it, enjoy winning, enjoy beating others. Humble people are hungry people, if you're strong, you should have the right to take what you want, that's how the lords did it," Borosi explained and he flinched as the boy grinned.

"Yes, that is a very good answer, what's your name?"

"Borosi!"

"Would you like to be my friend Borosi?"

"I don't understand!"

"A person needs friends, no matter how strong they are, or what their birth right may be, one needs to have friends. So what do you say Borosi? Be my friend and I'll give you a very special gift, and you'll never have to fear anything again, you'll never even go hungry again, what do you say?" the young man asked, gesturing to the meat on Borosi's lap.

Hesitantly, Borosi bit into the meat. He looked at the boy's hand and then at his face.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"You may call me Chimeron!"

* * *

Terra ground the herbs into a bowl. It was the third week of her mother's sickness. Her breathing was erratic at times, but for now it was more laboured. There was still a strength within the woman. People always said Terra had very little of her mother in her. She was her father's daughter, though Terra had never met the man. She was no bastard, her mother and father had been married in the eyes of the Maker and the seven. Terra was raised on both, and believed in both. People found this contradictory, one could not worship two sets of gods. It was more the concept of religion that Terra worshipped, the starburst symbol she wore around her neck had been placed on the symbol of the seven, creating the illusion that they were both joined.

"Terra," her mother called to her.

She brushed a strand of her red hair away from her eyes. The sixteen year old walked to her mother's side, taking her hand and smiling.

"You should go south, see what work you can find in the capital," the brown haired woman said.

She stroked Terra's freckles and smiled at her girl's discomfort. Most of the boys in the village called Terra ugly, but to her mother she was beautiful. Her hair was often dirty, her chest was flat and her arms had muscle from all the work she did in the village. She worked the fields, lifted stock at the inn and hunted rabbits and vermin. Terra had good hands, not the kind that bashed metal at a forge, she did more delicate work. Whether it was making traps or poultices, Terra was the best in the village. She was no physician or scholar however, she couldn't read. When she was younger, she had the privilege of studying with the Amell's personal priestess, Sister Bella. Bella tried hard to teach Terra, but over time Terra herself gave up and no one pushed her. Whatever was wrong with her eyes had nothing to do with how far she could see, or what she could see. It was letters and numbers she struggled to fathom.

"You would get lonely," Terra said.

"And you've been great company my dear, though it would be better if you brought with you a boy," the woman said and again laughed as Terra squirmed in discomfort.

"I'm too busy," she said shyly.

"I suppose, but take time to rest my dear, and remember...people can be cruel!"

"Stop talking as if you're going to die, just drink this," Terra shoved the bowl into her mother's hands and tilted it towards her mouth.

"As much as I enjoy being the one looked after, it hurts to see you so overworked my girl, tomorrow I'll get out of bed and help in the fields, I promise!"

"I would rather you rest, recover your strength, I'll get supper for tonight," Terra said, adjusting her mother's blanket.

"Are you happy Terra?" the woman asked.

"As happy as this place allows me to be," Terra said before she walked out of the hut.

Rabbits often graced the fields of Terra's village. She would take her rock sling and go hunting, or set traps. Today, she wanted to focus entirely on catching a rabbit. The paradox in Terra's ability to read was that she had excellent eye sight. As soon as she saw a nice, fat rabbit, she swung her sling around and launched a rock at its head. The impact knocked it out, and her hands at its neck did the rest. As night began to pass, Terra cooked the meat and served it to her mother.

"Delicious," she said.

"You don't have taste," Terra said.

"That doesn't mean I can't appreciate your efforts, thank you, now you eat too, or you'll become skin and bones."

"Men don't like girls bigger than them," Terra retorted.

"Oh, so you are interested," her mother grinned.

"Oh mother, too many of the boys in the village are my friends," Terra said.

"Yes, I certainly don't approve of some of the boys in this village, but I got lucky with your father. He was a good man, he didn't talk too much, he wasn't perfect but he didn't try to hide those imperfections. And there was no masks with him, no jokes, you were either worth his time, or not," the woman explained.

"But he still died, fighting a war that wasn't really ours to fight," Terra said.

"Don't let a noble hear you say that, by their command, all wars are ours to fight."

"It isn't right, they live in their lavish halls and to keep living in them, they demand our blood," anger crossed Terra's face, and her fist shook.

But her mother took her hand and stroked it, her smile putting the girl at ease.

"You can't change the world, and sometimes you can't change people, but you can change yourself. In the morning, go to the Chantry and see what work you can find, it would be closer and you wouldn't have to..." Terra's mother suddenly began to cough, and Terra put her plate down and grabbed her mother's water cup.

"Your throat is dry, here," she offered her the cup and her mother took small sips.

Then came the knock at the door, Terra kept her focus on her mother, making sure her coughing had stopped before she stood to walk to the door. She opened it and saw a man in a black hood. When he was under the hay shelter, he removed his hood and revealed a face Terra had only seen at a distance. But it was a face many in the Meadow knew, the face of their new lord.

"Lord Amell," Terra whispered.

"May I come in," Revion asked.

"Yes, of course, come in," Terra said.

She knew about courtesy as well, though she couldn't eat the way nobles expected, she could at least give them a polite welcoming. Getting water, bread and meat, she laid them at the table and tidied out her hair. A bewildered look crossed her mother's face as Revion walked into her room. Terra rushed to her mother, nervously standing behind the lord of the Meadow as he looked over her mother. He knelt at her bedside and bowed his head.

"I apologise for the lateness and my intrusion, I understand you have not been well, a condition that has attacked your chest yes?" Revion asked.

"It damn well feels as if my throat has shrunk, then there's the pain, I can't overwork on the fields, and my head aches," Terra's mother explained.

"As I suspected," Revion reached into his pocket and produced a vial with a green liquid in it. "Drink a spoonful of this every night before you sleep, it should ease the symptoms, once you begin to feel its poor taste, then you'll be able to return to work, in the meantime," he pulled a bag of coins and placed them on the table. "A few sisters from the chantry will get you food and water, not a lot but enough for you over the past few days, that is if your daughter will accept the task I offer to her."

"The task!" the woman raised her eyes sceptically.

"Terra, I understand you are a smart and resourceful girl, would you be willing to undertake a task for my family?" Revion asked.

"I would have to know what this task is," Terra said as Revion sat.

He poured a cup of water for Terra, sliding it to her. Then he removed a scroll from his coat, and after unravelling it revealed a map of Westeros, Essos and across the sea towards the continent of Thedas. Terra recognised the formations of the islands, though couldn't focus on the names of the places.

"It'll be a long journey that may take several months, you'll go to King's landing and meet with captain Isabela of the Siren's call, you'll join her crew until you get to Ferelden," Revion explained.

"What would I be doing in Ferelden?" Terra asked.

"Delivering several things to a man in Ferelden, mainly a box, no bigger than this," Revion stretched his hands out slightly, not even taking up half of the small table. "I would also like for you to speak with the man, get the measure of him, is he kind? Angry? Sad? Whatever you can learn from him in a single conversation, I wish to know him you see, but I cannot go to Ferelden myself and I would not send one of my vassals for a task that has only a sentimental value to my family," Revion explained.

"Who is this man?"

"His name is Daylen Amell, he is my brother," a smile crossed Revion's face.

"Why is he so far away?"

"Tell me Terra, do you believe in magic?" Revion asked and Terra blinked in confusion.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand, do you mean like in the stories about the children of the forest?"Terra asked.

"No, not to that degree, but the control of the elements, the ability to heal and kill, to create things through sheer force of will and to manipulate the very ground itself. Magic, the kind stories do not speak of, the kind that creates monsters, and saves worlds," Revion explained, and the last part confused both Terra and her mother. "The kind of magic that Westeros sees as a story, because it has been forgotten, and, well this is my theory, they want to forget it."

"What do you mean?"

"They must forget it, above all, the people beneath them must forget it. The lords and ladies of Westeros, even the Targaryens, needed the people to believe that there was nothing more powerful than them. They needed people to believe that wealth, status, titles and glory was actual power, that their game of thrones was the most important thing in the world. When the truth is, it is less than nothing," Revion hung his head low and sighed.

"I apologise," he said. "My brother is a mage, a being that could take power, a weapon, a hated and cursed creature. It is my wish for him to receive this box and its contents."

"How much are you willing to pay for this?" Terra's mother asked.

"A hundred sovereigns now, and a further hundred sovereigns upon completion," Revion said and Terra gasped.

"I...my goodness," she whispered.

"Do not misunderstand, this isn't charity, that first few hundred sovereigns will mostly be to cover any expenses you may have getting to Thedas and back. Isabela will not be able to bring you back to Westeros, as she will have her own commitments, so you will have to find a way back to Westeros yourself," Revion explained.

"I see, well, obviously we must accept," Terra's mother said.

"Why must you accept?" Revion asked.

He looked at Terra's mother directly, genuinely expecting an answer.

"Why must you accept?"

"You don't say no to lords," Terra said.

"I don't understand, why can't people have a choice, all we have are titles, that doesn't automatically entitle us to everything. That's one of the things that need to change," Revion shook his head as he walked to the door. "I will return in a few days for an answer Terra, you can say no if you wish!"

Terra nodded her head in understanding and watched the lord lift his hood over his head. He limped slightly, giving himself the appearance of a drunk, even singing a song in a slurred voice. Upon closing the door, Terra immediately rushed to her mother's side. The woman was trying to get up out of bed.

"Mother please don't," Terra said.

"Shut it girl, you are not going to say no, understand?"

"Mother I need to stay here with you!"

"I will be fine, I'll take this medicine and if it doesn't work then I suppose I'll just die, but until that happens I am not going to stand in the way of you changing your life for the better," her mother explained.

"You're not a burden mother," Terra said.

"I am girl, you're rushed from place to place for work and medicine, for scraps of food. If you waste this opportunity then you are a fool."

"I can't leave you alone," Terra said.

"Seven fucking hells, this is your chance, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" her mother yelled. "This is an opportunity, no one gets, a chance to leave their home and see something different. Day after day, you listen to Sister Bella's stories, start making your own. And earn the coin we can use to make our lives better."

Left in shock by her mother's words, Terra slowly nodded her head. The woman stroked her hair and smiled, a few tears falling down her face.

"I want so much more for you my girl, this is the only chance you'll have, a chance I never had," she said.

"All right mother, I'll do it," Terra said and her mother pulled her into a hug.

"We have two days girl, let's spend them together!"

* * *

The Three Sisters

Within the patch of sea known as 'The Bite' there was the three sisters, three islands neighbouring one another. Long Sister, Little sister and sweet sister. Chimeron had to whistle at the names, a map was enough for him to know why they were called those names. Sweet sister however was where Sisterton was founded. A small town ruled over by Lord Godric Borrell, a fleshy, fat and ugly man with balding white hair, had the nicknames of Master of Breakwater Castle and Shield of Sisterton. But Chimeron had no interest in that man, nor his daughters or granddaughter. Sisterton was a smuggler's paradise, despite the actions of Stannis Baratheon. He came to Sisterton and had several men hung, most of them were Lord Borrell's friends, but it was the price they paid for taking part in smuggling. .

'If Stannis had encountered Damion Amell in his smuggling days, I'm sure that man would have met a very different end,' Chimeron grinned.

He walked with Borosi behind him, the man striding with more confidence, but an emptiness in his eyes.

"Where is it?" Chimeron asked him.

Borosi simply raised his finger and pointed it towards a group of warehouses at the docks. Passing over a few hanged men, Chimeron boxed a set of entrails hanging from one's stomach. He looked to the warehouse and saw men unloading cargo. As he suspected, their people were unarmed, so as to not draw suspicion. That didn't mean that sailors on the ships weren't. Everything the men unloaded was a cover, spices to hide their real cargo. Chimeron held onto his scabbard, tapping it against a box. Then he lifted his hand, giving Omega room to brush against his hips. He stroked the cats head and made a few clicking noises.

"Sick them," Chimeron put his hand forward and Omega immediately began running down the docks.

Chimeron and Borosi followed after them, at their flanks, two other 'men' ran, climbing cargo and other boats to get to their targets. The men were in black clothes and armour, it was impossible to see their faces. They wielded sickles, their edges jagged and as brutal as the masks the men wore. Screaming started echoing out of the ship, followed by Omega's roars. Chimeron drew his sword as he walked up the plank, Borosi stayed behind and beat the men loading cargo. The masked man grinned as he reached the deck of the ship, immediately slashing one man across the throat. His 'shadows' were fast fighters, brutally tearing the flesh and slicing the throats of their victims before moving to the next. Chimeron deflected a sailors sword and beheaded him, then he hit a man across the face with his scabbard, knocking him into Omega's jaws. The Direcat climbed up one of the masts, and Chimeron sidestepped, avoiding a sailor screaming to his death. His Shadows flanked him, quickly executing two men that tried to attack him. Chimeron stabbed another sailor through the heart and used his body as a shield against two crossbow bolts. On the top deck, two sailors held crossbows and quickly began to load them.

"Wait, wait..." Chimeron raised his hand, keeping one of his shadows from throwing a dagger.

The sailors above them looked at him in confusion, slowing down their efforts to reload. He impatiently tapped his foot against the floor. It was clear he was waiting for them. They reloaded and aimed at the man. But Omega suddenly pounced on top of one of the men, sinking his jaws into his throat. The other screamed in horror, before a dagger pierced through his head. Chimeron took a running start, both his shadows giving him a boost so he could jump onto the deck.

"Captain," he said, grinning in anticipation.

Immediately, the man's sword clattered to the ground and he held his hands up in defeat.

"I surrender, please, please spare me, I'll take the black!"

Chimeron's hand shook as he looked down at the man. He was furious, eyes narrowed, skin going almost red.

"Surrender, that's what you're doing?" he asked.

He shook his head, taking a step towards the man, who fell back and raised his hands up.

"I slaughtered your men, no attempt to avenge them maybe? No attempt to at least die with a little courage and fucking dignity? I mean come on, I came here looking for a fight and you fucking disappoint me. Damn it, damn it, damn it," he repeated over and over, kicking at the deck.

Chimeron turned his back, and the captain looked at his fallen sword. He noticed the young man's eyes looking over his shoulder.

"You're tempted though right?" he asked, hope burning in his eyes.

But the captain looked down, blubbering as Chimeron kicked his sword onto his lap.

"Pick it up," Chimeron said.

"No!"

"Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up, pick it up, pick it up, pick it up, pick it up, pick up!"

"No please," the man cried.

"Pick it up, PICK IT UP! PICK IT UP! PICK IT UP!"

The captain cowered and screamed, tears coming down his face, urine soaking through his trousers. Chimeron's shadows stepped to his side, one taking the captain's sword and throwing it into the water. They looked to Chimeron and he sighed, nodding his head. The captain looked up at the shadows, they removed masks and hood, dropping them to the floor. He screamed like a frightened child, backing away against the deck, trying to climb over it. But the shadows grabbed him, and as Chimeron walked towards the cargo area, the man's screams were replaced by the ripping of flesh.

When Lord Borrell came down from his castle, he was welcomed by the sight of a ravaged ship and imprisoned crew. They had been the cargo handlers, the people simply hired to carry the distractions. Yet still they would be punished. At the front of the real cargo, Chimeron stood, tending to the elf prisoners. Though elves weren't loved in Westeros, the small folk loved a good hero and a lord appreciated a just man of action. Chimeron bowed to Lord Borrell, gave him his name and went on his way. On his small boat he sat, rubbing Omega's tummy as Borosi ate. The bigger man was ripping into the 'meat' as if he was starving. Standing over Chimeron, handling the oar was another whom was aiding him, a friend.

"You seem different," the boat paddler said, his voice strained as if speaking was a rare thing.

"Oh I am Styx, I am, it felt, strange to do something that that man would have done, something good," Chimeron said.

He made a fist, letting Omega bump his head against it.

"What is the matter?" Styx asked, his white skin barely visible beneath his ragged hood.

"Saving those people, giving them hope and freeing them from whatever fate the smugglers intended, it felt unexpectedly good," the young man hung his head back and chuckled. "To think, I always laughed at that man's dream, to be a hero, to do good," he looked up at the stars and imagined the one he spoke of doing the same, far off in the land of Thedas.

"Curious, you say 'that' man, but, who is he? How can a human be so fascinating?" Styx asked.

"You forget Styx, no matter how much I despise myself for it, I too am human," Chimeron stroked Omega again and smirked. "It is his connection to me that fascinates only me you see. There will be other reasons that people are drawn to him of course, his intelligence, his integrity, his courage and kindness, his power. Once I had a different name, once I resided in a prison, where I learnt how to use magic, where I crossed the fade and found true power, a power he rejected, yet still he had enough power to 'kill' me," Chimeron laughed. "Oh I remember that day, I want to relive it more than anything. But I want the field to change, I want to face him again so much, when we are both at our best."

"Yes, you once bore the name Leo, but who was that man?"

"His name is Daylen Amell, and when we are both heroes, then we will meet again! We will face each other in total war, and one shall fall!"

Next Chapter 4: Red Riot

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, Chimeron/Leo, possibly full villain, but I'd like to think there's more to him, stay with him and you might find out. Terra is a favourite of mine, especially with the path I've laid out for her.

Next time we return to Fausten's company as they go to Qohor and accept a job involving the followers of R'hllor.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own A song of Ice and Fire, or Dragon Age

* * *

Game of Dragons

The two friends continued their chess match. Fausten stroked his chin as he considered which piece to move. Sacrifice a pawn? Or a rook? Give his opponent the higher ranked piece, so that the lower piece could take a few more steps towards his king. Aerys hung his head back, mockingly yawning at Fausten's inaction.

"Perhaps you should pray to your god for victory, your Maker," Aerys huffed.

"It is laughable to pray for victory, what care does the Maker have for the games of men, or even their lives?" Fausten asked.

"Careful birdie, your priests would be displeased to hear such blasphemy from you," Aerys said.

"Blasphemy changes with the times, as do sins, as does the devotion of those whom follow a religion. One who spends his entire life dedicating himself to every bit of scripture, to every commandment, one whom shapes his entire existence on his religion, is not necessarily more devoted or faithful than the man who simply believes," Fausten explained.

"I've never seen you pray, do you truly believe?" Aerys asked.

"I believe in a power higher than ours, I believe everyone must keep their own counsel on gods, their faith is theirs. That being said I do find a problem when people take their faith too far, when they take scripture too literally. Then there is the very concept of churches themselves, the hierarchy of the church, the involvement of the church in politics. The faith should not be allowed to dictate how a land is ruled, there are too many contradictions to their teachings, too much room for extremism. There is magic in my land..."

Aerys groaned at Fausten's words.

"There is magic, mages Aerys, imprisoned by the Chantry because of the power they wield, a power they need to learn to control, that is the necessity of the circle of magi. But that is not always the reason they are given. So many children are sent away from their family under the belief that there is something wrong with them. Or that the Maker doesn't love them, or that they're unholy, templars are a necessity because of their skills, but I don't agree with them reporting to the chantry, there is too much room for fanaticism," Fausten continued.

"Fanaticism, Extremism, they're problems regardless of whether or not religion is involved, one can take their ideals too far. Once you've tasted power, "Aerys looked at his hand, squeezing it into a fist as he spoke, his voice drifting as if he was seeing something. "Once you've judged another, controlled life, provided justice, it feels good, and it starts to feel right. You convince yourself that you are right, and just!"

"That's quite deep Aerys, careful or you might lose yourself," Fausten chuckled

"I can't lose myself Faust, not when I have you with me," Aerys smiled and Fausten nodded his head. "There are many gods, the summer isles have their fertility goddess, the Iron islanders have their drowned gods, the Northmen have their trees, in the lands to the east there are the followers of their red god, the fire god."

It was Fausten's turn to groan.

"My open mindedness has it limits, those people are just nuts!" he said.

Aerys blinked in confusion for a moment, he had never heard such criticism from his friend. Then he began to laugh, rolling his head back before Fausten joined him.

* * *

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 4: Red Riot

Qohor, the city of sorcerers as some in Westeros called it. James had been there once, when he was Fausten. He had hoped to gain a Valyrian steel weapon there, as Qohor was one of the few places in the world that held the knowledge of reworking the legendary material. But it was a closely guarded secret, and it was in Qohor that Fausten learnt that a man was only as good as his weapon. A poor swordsman with a Valyrian steel blade was no match for a master with an iron one. Nobles clamoured for the steel as a status symbol, to show it off. James believed it to be a waste of the true potential of a blade.

'What good is a sword that rests in the sheath?' he wondered.

"Fuck I feel weary," one of the soldiers said.

"They say the followers of the black goat practice dark magic here," whispered another.

"They offer daily blood rituals, they believe there is power in such things, that doesn't make it true," James said.

"Perhaps we could offer them a sacrifice," Alexa muttered.

She looked over her shoulder, at their chained prisoner Khal Drogo. Or simply Drogo, his braid was gone, tied against a banner one of the men carried. Qohor was the gateway to the east, traders often came to the city. Freemen from Pentos and Braavos, slavers from Meeren and Astapor. The city indirectly traded with the far off lands of Yi Ti. Most of the city watch consisted of Unsullied, formidable fighters raised from birth to be fearless. James's tactic was simple, spread the word of the company's victory over Drogo, by marching Drogo through the city streets. People watched them, saw their prisoner and the length of Drogo's braid wrapped around the banner.

"Is that really the undefeated Khal?" some asked.

"Not so undefeated anymore," said others.

"I can't tell whether people are glad, or sad that he's lost," Asher said.

"Why mourn for a man like him?" Alexa asked.

"Some people have a very romantic view of the Dothraki, hell a romantic view of cunts in general...or they just like cunts, shows you how shitty people are," said a Ferelden man in a scale mail coat.

"The same could be said for us demonising the Dothraki," Durad said.

"People are only right when it is believed they are right," Stork said.

"What do you mean?" Asher asked.

"My people have their own romantic view of our former homeland, Arlathan, the great elf empire, but I'm of the opinion that it was just another empire, it did brilliant and terrible things. Often terrible things are done in the creation of an empire. My clan didn't like the fact that I said once we were no better than Tevinter," the elf explained.

"Ouch," Stone muttered.

"Everything is dependent on the point of view really," James said. "These people believe that by spilling blood on a daily basis that is shows their god how loyal they are, to others it seems like the mindless slaughter of animals and even people."

"They sacrifice people here?" Durad asked.

"On holy days they do just that, criminals but there are many forms of criminal, in their most desperate times nobles have even sacrificed their own children," James explained.

"It all seems too wasteful!"

"From your point of view, from mine as well," James said.

He uncorked his satchel and forced Drogo to swallow some water. The man was beginning to pale and his throat was dry. Every so often, mashed up food and drink would be forced down his throat. Some of James's men argued over why he should be kept alive, but it wasn't a kindness. He wanted people to see Drogo in chains, to see him defeated. The people saw him, now the noble quarter would see him. From their balconies and windows, the Qohor nobility watched the undefeated Khal being dragged across the streets. The people of Qohor feared the Dothraki, every three or four years Khal Zekko would ride his Khalasar to the city. To keep him from attacking, they would shower him with gifts and bribes. Seeing the supposedly undefeated Khal would give them hope, and entice them into defying the Dothraki more. By showing people their strength, the company would gain respect. Their numbers would grow, they would gain more contracts, more wealth and more reputation.

"Something is happening on the road ahead," Stork said.

James put a hand to his sword as the company drew closer to a market stall. He saw ahead timber scattered across the floor, religious idols scattered and local men at the mercy of men in red. James raised his hand, commanding the men to stop.

"Stay alert," he told them before he began moving ahead.

He narrowed his eyes at the men in the red robes as they smashed the goat figures against the ground.

"Leave that man be," he commanded, half drawing his sword.

Seeing an obviously armoured and armed fighter, the men in red chose to flee. James knelt by the older man's side, he was a carpenter judging from his hands and the tools scattered across the floor. There was however a significant lack of stock at that moment, the men in red had only smashed a few items but already the store owner was low.

"Thank you," the man said as James helped him up.

"Were they followers of R'hllor?" James asked.

"Young fools, converts I'm afraid," the carpenter said, limping to his table.

"I have met these red priestesses, they can make converting seem appealing to the young," James said.

"Indeed," the man groaned.

"This is not the first time they have shaken down your business is it?" James asked.

"It began a few days ago, they wanted me to make symbols based upon the fiery heart of the lord of light. To do such a thing would be a death sentence, whilst it is not illegal in Qohor to carry religious symbols, selling them is. I would be accused of trying to convert people and arrested," the carpenter explained. "I refused the converts, and they broke my leg for it, but I've gotten off easy compared to others."

"Your shop doesn't look like it has," James said.

"They cause damage to the outside, but they don't need to do anything to the inside. Several businesses in Qohor have suffered over the past few weeks, more youths flock to R'hllor, some I daresay don't even believe."

"There's a crisis, the goat offers no solution and neither does the city, so perhaps the lord of light offers one, is that their mind set?" James asked.

"Precisely, it all started when a pack of those red priests took up residence in the forest," the carpenter said.

The forest of Qohor was what surrounded the city. James already understood why the stock at the store was so low. Though a trade hub, the city's primary source of income was the importing of lumber. The forest provided the best source, if one wanted to break the city through economics, interfering with the lumber trade was a good start. James picked up a figure of a griffon and paid the man for the information.

"We're going to return to camp and pick this back up in the morning," James said and his officers nodded their heads.

Making an agreement with the city authorities, the company formed a camp outside of the city. In exchange, the company would assist the Unsullied in establishing order. The payment of the job was the right to stay within the city limits, to walk the streets and even an audience with the city lords. On the first night James had Durad, Alexa and a few others scout the woods. Garbed in dark green clothes and hoods, they crept through the woods. It wasn't to attack the R'hllor followers camp, but to scout them out. They were armed, and they were practising their religion, chanting around their fires. On the second day, James took his men into the city and assisted the watch.

"Riots are a complicated fight," Stone began, addressing the less experienced fighters. "Those whom start riots can turn those whom don't even share their beliefs into allies, once passersby are caught in the crossfire, they'll fight to survive and they spread, which is why we focus on defence and containment."

"The phalanx is not just the ideal tactic in a battlefield, but in the narrow streets, rioters can beat their arms and clubs against shields all they want, but the shields won't break and so long as the formation is strong, it won't break either. Before you kill them, try to tire them out," said a trainer from Kirkwall.

That morning ended with a riot and a few deaths, but not for the company. In the afternoon, James had the men gathered up for training.

"You all fought well against the Dothraki, but a warrior should never rest at fighting well," he told them.

He assigned men to train the troops, to improve the already formidable fighters and turn the simple survivors into true warriors. After purchasing a few carts and chains, James turned them into the ideal tools for toning the body.

"Skill with a sword is good, but so is strength, train yourselves to hit harder, to fight longer," said a man from Starkhaven.

Laurence was a brutal trainer, adding chains to weights for the soldiers to lift. He yelled at them when they failed, encouraged them as they lifted and ran.

"FASTER! FASTER!" he roared at men running with chains in the woods.

Like a mad man he ran into a formation of men practicing their shield wall. It fell when he kicked the wall.

"Dead, dead, FUCKING DEAD!" he yelled.

"Many lives depend on those first two lines," Stone said, speaking calmly and more reasonably than the Starkhaven man.

"Keep your feet firm, keep your arms up, and when they come at you, fucking bash them back!" Laurence said.

That evening, again James sent out scouts and hunters. Durad, under the guise of a convert, even spoke with some of the R'hllor cultists. They shared a camp fire and spoke of the religion and for how long the cult would be there.

"We are simple followers of the lord of light, trying to spread an awareness of his teachings," one of the men said.

"I've been seeking answers, I'm curious to know of your teachings, I'm afraid I have heard quite biased views," Durad said.

There was very little lying, very little deception. Durad understood the basics of hiding and acting, appearing to others as your best self. To the cultists he appeared as a version of what he was, a young man with an uncertainty of religion and society. He had been born outside of the Qun, the way of life all whom bore the name Qunari followed. What he knew was either from his parents or outsiders. Most outsiders considered the Qunari slavers, his parents still held an appreciation of the Qun, yet they always warned him against it.

"Lead us from the darkness, O my Lord. Fill our hearts with fire, so we may walk your shining path . . . R'hllor, you are the light in our eyes, the fire in our hearts, the heat in our loins. Yours is the sun that warms our days, yours the stars that guard us in the dark of night. (Lord of Light, defend us. The night is dark and full of terrors. Lord of Light, protect us.) R'hllor who gave us breath, we thank you. R'hllor who gave us day, we thank you. (We thank you for the sun that warms us. We thank you for the stars that watch us. We thank you for our hearths and for our torches, that keep the savage dark at bay.)"

When Durad spoke the prayers, he was loaded with feelings. The fear of the darkness, and the comfort that could be found in light. But he was also sceptical, sceptical of thanking 'someone' for the day and the night. They were all inevitable to him. He knew it was also part of his Qunari/Kossith upbringing, the Qunari were familiar with metaphors, but they could also be quite literal as well. Durad stayed into the morning, as the sun began to rise the followers again prayed, giving thanks to R'hllor for gifting them with the day. Afterwards Durad returned and was immediately thrown into the Third day. The day began with an archer from far Eastern lands, Khalid was a dark skinned man, a giant to some and a brutal staff fighter. He twirled his club around, looking over the gathered archers.

"Long bows are good on an open field, great for hunting, but at close quarters you will need better weapons," he gave Durad and a few others curved bows with knuckle guards on them.

Durad tested the weight of the weapon, light, easy to hold and carry. He drew out one arrow after another and fired, hitting most of his targets.

"Faster, you need to be faster," Khalid told his students. "Turn your hands into quivers, carry as many arrows in one hand as you can so that you can reduce your load time," he explained.

Durad followed the man's advice, he held arrows in between his fingers, moved to altering which side he knocked back the arrow through. Bows and arrows could be powerful weapons, on open fields and Khalid's teachings proved that they could be useful in city streets too. When next the riots struck, James instead had the newly trained archers kill the ring leaders. It proved much more effective than the previous tactic of beating back the rioters on the street. By killing the worshippers themselves, they showed those willing to follow them there would only be one end. But there was another attack in the evening. Young worshippers of R'hllor attacked city watch patrols and it turned into a slaughter when the Unsullied arrived to execute the rioters.

"Has all this been about practicing our tactics?" a Westerosi boy asked when the camp fires were lit.

"Why else would we be pitted against such easy to defeat opponents, the battle against the Dothraki was a challenge, we proved ourselves did we not?" asked a Westerosi Northerner.

"That shows what you know boys, every army needs a rest, and above all to practice. A sword goes rusty if it is not maintained, warriors too lose their edge," a veteran from Braavos explained.

By the fourth day, archers patrolled the rooftops and shield bearers the streets. And James Marcher was summoned by the city's ruling council of lords. He sat in front of the group of men, all from the prestigious family's, some founders and others whom had risen to prominence in the last age.

"As you may have already learned, a cult of R'hllor has taken residence in the woods," began the youngest of the lords.

"They bear responsibility for these riots, there was even an attack on one of our temples," said another.

"Two priests were killed and they 'liberated' two of our sacrifices," stated one of the older lords.

"Human sacrifices, what were their crimes?" James asked, cautiously drinking the wine they offered.

"Two murderers," said the previous young lord.

"Who did they kill and why?"

"One was a thief who took things too far, the other killed one of our priests."

James nodded his head, understanding their outrage over the actions of the priests. But there was an underlying, economic issue to the followers of R'hllor being there. An issue that James quickly inquired about, in order to move the meeting along.

"Our primary source of income is what we gain from importing the lumber from the woods. Since the cult took residence in the forest however, they have harassed our workers, prevented our caravans from passing and taken what stock we can cut down," one of the lords explained.

"I see, why not send the Unsullied to kill them all?" James asked.

"We don't want to cause an incident with the high priests of R'hllor, we have a legal right to drive them from our lands, but if it becomes a massacre then it'll only cause further pains for our people down the road. The Unsullied are formidable on the battlefield, but they are slaves, raised for killing their enemies and nothing else. Problem solving isn't their strong suit, you have proven invaluable over the past few days, able to accomplish what other mercenaries haven't."

"Our wish is for you to resolve this incident, we will be willing to pay you considerably!"

A smirk crossed James face as he worked out the details of the contract with the nobles. They would pay half to him up front, and the other half upon completion of the contract. That was how James intended to arrange his contracts in the future. He took the money and bought wine and food, enough to treat his tired company to a feast at camp. Limits were placed on the number of cups of wine people could drink, and though James found the practice distasteful he hired whores as well. No one was allowed to get drunk, but they ate hearty meals, had fine company which grew as the night progressed. James opened the camp for people of the town, and even followers of R'hllor.

It was James's experience that people often sought out religion for the sake of finding themselves. People needed a sense of belonging, or to believe they were achieving something in life. They needed purpose, something to do. By opening the camp to the followers of R'hllor, James enticed young cultists into speaking at the fire. They spoke of why they sought out the lord of light in the first place. Listening to each conversation at the fire, James found there to be no three reasons the same. The devotion of each follower was different, but how 'lost' they were to religion often matched. There were devotees, and even extremists. James set no limit on the amount of wine the cultists could drink. He poured and poured out more cups for the older cultists, and whispered into the ears of the younger or more reasonably minded ones. The ones who wanted a purpose, who knew how to fight or were prepared to learn. So James turned a plot to drive the cultists out of the woods, into a plot to recruit more soldiers to his cause.

* * *

Kings landing

Myrcella Baratheon's eye lids were heavy, and her brother Tommen was asleep. That was until Revka slammed her gold hand into the table.

"Come on you two, keep awake, you're not finished yet," she said.

"Usually the Maester teaches us," Myrcella rubbed her eyes as she spoke.

"Don't trust that man, I trust Baelish more than I trust him, and that's saying something considering Baelish is a man to never be trusted too. Now have you been paying attention I wonder? Heraldry of House Dayne?" Revka immediately pointed at Myrcella.

"A white sword and falling star crossed on Lilac," Myrcella took no time to give her answer, putting a smile on Revka's face.

"Dorne's primary export?"

"Cloth, wine and fruits!"

"What kind?"

"Blood oranges, plums, lemons and pomegranates," Myrcella paused for a moment, searching for another answer. "Olives too I think," she nervously looked at Revka and sighed in relief as the woman smiled.

"Very good, primary income for the North?"

"Wool, hides and timber, White Harbour has a great deal of silver smiths, though importing is difficult in the North due to the geography, most of the trade is conducted through the rivers or the kings road," Myrcella explained.

"Capital of the Reach?" Myrcella pointed next at Tommen and the boy nervously mumbled.

Revka tapped her foot against the ground, awaiting the boy's response.

"Sunspear," he suggested.

"Don't ever suggest that answer to a Dornish man, think Tommen, you've read the maps enough, you know the answer," Revka said.

"Is it Highgarden?" he asked.

"Yes, previous currency before the Targaryen conquest?"

"Currency are coins? In think they were called Hands," Tommen said.

"How much is a hand compared to a dragon?"

"Half a dragon!"

Revka nodded her head and slammed the books shut.

"Very good you two, now why don't we get a few sweets," she said and smiled as the children excitedly got off of their chairs.

She took Tommen's hand, whilst Myrcella took her gold hand. The princess wasn't even bothered when she held Revka's stump. She had a strength that reminded Revka of Cersei, but without the cruel tendency. Walking through the corridors of the castle, they passed several red robed figures. Though they bowed to the two heirs, Revka guided the children away from them.

"Aunt Revka," Tommen said, catching her attention.

"What is it my prince?" she asked.

"Why are these priests here?" he asked.

"Well you see Tommen, religion can play an important part in people's day to day lives. People need something to believe, and religions can provide that. When kingdoms form a relationship with a faith, they can better appeal to the hearts and minds of their people. However the faiths also use the authority given to them by the kingdoms, they grow in power and become houses in their own right," Revka said.

"I never thought of that, but the Faith of the Seven no longer has an army," Myrcella said.

"True, which is for the best."

"Your faith has an army doesn't it?"

"It does Tommen, two branches actually, the Seekers serve the interests of the Chantry itself, they answer to the appointed Divine and follow her commands. Investigating incidents, hunting those whom have committed crimes against the Chantry and even aggressive military response during a time of great crisis. The Templars however though in emergency situations carry out military responses, they are mainly guards for individual Chantries. But their main duties are the guarding of mages, the apprehension of rogue mages, and the execution of mages whom have committed murder, or have consorted with demons," Revka explained.

"The templars, they are the ones who are holding your oldest son prisoner aren't they?" Myrcella asked.

"They were, but my son is now free, from a certain perspective," Revka said, a heavy sigh escaping her lips.

"What do you mean?" Tommen asked.

"What she means children, is that we are never free," the voice of the Queen rung through the corridor as Cersei walked towards her children. "We are always bound by something, duty, honour, our commitments to our family. One day your brother will sit on the iron throne, that will be the duty that binds him, you Tommen will remain a prince, but you will also have a duty, perhaps on the small council, or ruling the Westerlands if your grandfather has his way. But you'll likely rule on the seat of Dragonstone, that is usually what is expected of the next heir to the iron throne," Cersei explained.

"What will be expected of me mother?" Myrcella asked.

"You my daughter will marry the lord of a prominent land, you will raise his children and assit him in ruling his lands, but you will always remain a princess," Cersei said.

She noted the disappointment in her daughter's eyes. But her daughter, her good girl, remained silent.

"Thank you for covering their studies Revka, what of your business with Tyrion?" Cersei asked Revka.

"He wishes for me to meet a girl from flea bottom, she worked at Baelish's 'establishment', serving drinks, but grew uncomfortable when the...children, ears," upon Revka's command the two children covered their ears. "The Fucktard wanted her to start fucking his customers," she seethed.

"The price of a girl working at a brothel, children it is safe," Cersei said and the prince and princess uncovered their ears.

"How did the meeting with the red priests go?" Revka asked.

"If you're hoping they proved to us the existence of magic, you will be disappointed, mere fire dancing, no different from the parlour tricks Ser Thoros used to light his sword on fire," Cersei explained.

"Why the sudden interest in the religion though?"

"I cannot understand what my husband's small council urges of him, perhaps the tales coming out of Thedas are what have inspired them to seek out the truth on whether magic exists or not," Cersei stated. "Children, go back to your rooms, I wish to speak with Revka alone."

Revka waved goodbye to the royal children and turned to the queen, crossing her arms together and leaning against the wall.

"These monsters you've spoken of in your stories, the ones that are apparently attacking Ferelden, are they as horrifying as it is claimed?" Cersei asked.

"The stories I tell...in truth the darkspawn are even more terrifying. I'm no expert but from what I have heard they multiply by, by turning women into Brood mothers, horrifying creatures," Revka explained.

"Perhaps it is fortunate that such things are far away," Cersei said.

"Yes, fortunate, still, I have faith that Ferelden will endure."

"Why is that?" Cersei asked.

"Ferelden is a resilient nation, and there are still grey wardens remaining, one of whom is my son, Daylen will not let Ferelden fall."

Cersei slowly nodded her head and motioned for Revka to follow her to the garden. They walked down the path, the guards a distance behind them. Both watchful for spies, but comfortable in the knowledge that whatever they would say would be between them.

"Even though you did not hold him, or know him for long, you are so confident that your son has the capability to achieve great things. Joffrey, my boy, my favourite, I want to believe he can be brilliant. Yet when I see him study, I can tell his lack of interest is not because he is knowledgeable, but truly ignorant. When I see him train, I can see he doesn't have Robert or Jamie's talent, and probably never will. And I know it seems otherwise but, when he killed Tommen's cat, that shocked me, do I seem like a person who is easy to shock?" Cersei asked.

"No, you aren't, and by that expectation I will be shocked if you are actually surprised by Joffrey's behaviour or his behaviour in the future, because he **will** be cruel in the future," Revka explained.

"I agree, but he is my son, and I would give him the world, no matter what he would do to it. Do you think me evil or foolish for such a thing?"

Revka stopped and looked at Cersei for a moment. There seemed to be tears beginning to form in her eyes.

_(Undertale OST-His Theme)_

"That day of the fire in Kirkwall, when father and I found Daylen, a lone survivor. The Chantry and the templars all said it was a rogue mage, an escapee from the circle tower. But after we took him home, I discovered the truth. He was crying, and he set the sheets of his crib on fire. I grabbed one of my dresses, and beat the flames. Then I sang a lullaby to him, I whispered in his ear, stroked his cheeks and felt the heat of the flames within him die down. An infant child, already beginning to show signs of magic. Common sense dictated that I should have just told the templars, but he was just a baby, a baby that would have had to have spent the rest of his life in that tower. But I remained silent, I kept him because he was mine," she explained.

She raised her arms, imagining cradling that little boy in her arms. Then she turned to Revka, her face devoid of a smile.

"You understand Cersei? I have never told anyone that."

"I understand," Cersei said, and just like that, she was shocked.

To see such vulnerability in Revka, to hear such a confession. For her to have taken such a risk, it made Cersei understand that despite their differences, they had many things in common and the most important thing in common. They would do whatever it took to protect their children. Especially the child they loved the most. To see such honesty in Revka's eyes, also made Cersei believe in magic. And as much as she loved Revka, she hoped her son would never come to Westeros.

_(End OST)_

* * *

Essos

As devoted as people could be to religion, sometimes gold was more important to them. Sometimes the prospect of employment, and one's own life far exceeded how far they were willing to go for their gods. James recruited from the followers of R'hllor themselves, and promising them gold and a future, employed them in his plot to drive the cultists from the land. Their guards were drunk from the night before, and their weapons too had been taken from those James recruited from the camp. Then as the morning came and they awoke for their prayers, the cultists were assaulted by James's men. Not in heavy armour, but in hoods and coats, they shot a few of the more aggressive cultists with arrows and clubbed a few others. Six men were killed, and the two prisoners they had taken were freed.

"I feel like we've been overpaid," Asher said, burning a few of the artefacts the cultists had left behind.

"Maybe the lords thought the general would kill them," Durad said.

He pocketed a few of the trinkets left behind, intending to sell them later.

"You know, when the general sent you to spy on them, I thought you would consider joining them," the Forrester exile said.

"I admit their pitch was pretty convincing, but I've had people try to pitch something to me before, a Qunari woman...not Kossith, pretty red head, an elf actually, beautiful," Durad closed his eyes for a moment as if he was picturing the woman. "She made the Qun seem so, perfect, as if I could finally have a place to belong, and I was tempted."

"What happened?" Asher asked.

"My mother burnt the woman to death, I had never seen her use her magic before, it was bad enough being an 'ox-man', but if anyone knew she was a mage. To risk discovery was how far my mother was willing to go to keep me from the Qun," Durad explained.

"Mothers will do a lot for their children," Asher muttered before he walked away.

Durad looked towards James, seeing the general standing over the two men he had liberated from the cultists. It was clear they were brothers, one a skinny, but strong looking boy with brown hair. His older brother had a tuft of white hair and was more muscular.

"Thief and murderer, so tell me, why did you both kill?" James asked.

"A black smith was making a Valyrian steel sword for someone, I was trying to steal it," the younger brother said.

"Your intention was to sell it right? Foolish," James shook his head and the boy huffed.

"Whoever was going to get the sword was just going to use it to decorate their hip, I would have sold it to feed our mother," the boy said.

"But Kieran was arrested, and our mother died anyway, I asked one of the priests at the temple what was going to happen to my brother. He said he would be sacrificed to the gods on the upcoming holy day. I begged the priest to let my brother live, told him that I would take his place...the man fucking laughed, he LAUGHED!" the older boy yelled.

"So you thought...fuck it, and killed him," James said. "You both will do nicely!"

"What?" both boys widened their eyes.

"As recruits, come work for me, you'll get food, coin, a home wherever the camp goes and I hope a new family with the company," James explained.

The brothers looked at one another, wordlessly contemplating the offer. They nodded their heads, and Stork cut their bindings. Then they embraced James as a new father, and joined other new recruits in meeting those whom began with the company. James saw the ideal company, formed of those whom worshipped red and black, but bound together out of a need for gold. He looked at the fire left by the cultists and then at the sky.

"Who is the most devote, the one willing to kill and die for his faith? Or he who is willing to **live** by his faith, to **have **faith and to be satisfied with his faith alone?" the man chuckled slightly.

He put a hand to his heart and closed his eyes. It was the rare instance when he would pray.

"For my family maker, watch over them and grant them happiness, for the dead maker, grant them passage to your side, to the unjust, grant them redemption, to the just, grant them peace

Next Chapter 5: Pursuit of heroism

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter.

Thought I would drop a bomb in this chapter with Revka's revelation. It gives a little more credence to the friendship she and Cersei have, for them to have the most important thing in common, their love for their children. I hoped I've showed it throughout the series:

Dayk was a womanizer, she forgives that and loves him anyway. Revion is not all there, but Revka loves him anyway. And this chapter reveals a fault of Daylen's he didn't even know of, the day he used blood magic was not actually the day he first used magic.

Speaking of Daylen: We return to Ferelden with Daylen and his group getting a Stone prisoner, and finally reaching Redcliffe, where not everything is safe. Battles with the Undead, conversations with companions, secret passage ways and unexpected reunions. Well, unless you've played the game, then you know what'll happen :)


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I Don't own a Song of Ice and Fire or Dragon Age

I'm back, or at least this story gets another update. Some things I promised last chapter won't be in this chapter I'm afraid.

* * *

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 5: In Pursuit of Heroism

Daylen walked through the flames, hearing nothing else but whispers. It was some kind of chant, a song perhaps. But he couldn't determine exactly what they were saying. Debris was spread across the floor, rotted or charred grass. Shards of rock were protruding from the ground, no, not rock, rock didn't shine. The glowing stones were red and as Daylen got closer he saw that some of the stones were growing out of people. He looked at the bodies, horrified, the surge of power felt much like lyrium. Unwilling to look at the bodies anymore, he turned away and tripped. He had caught his leg on something, rolling on his back he looked to see what it was. Staring back at him were the eyes of Daveth and Jory, blood leaking from the former thief's mouth, the knife wounds still fresh on the knight. He got off of the floor and ran, hearing the whispers growing louder. Everywhere he turned he saw a body, a Ferelden soldier, a grey warden, a villager he couldn't save. He slid to a halt, looking at Duncan's head impaled on a spike.

But the head spoke, whispering and as Daylen turned he realised all of the corpses around him were whispering too. Even heads separated from bodies still spoke, half torn or crushed jaws still moved and exposed tongues wagged, whispering the song. Daylen formed fire in his hands, recognising the feeling he had had ever since he had completed the joining. The whispers was the darkspawn taint, and they were getting closer. He looked over his shoulder, looked to his left, his right, ahead and even at the floor. It felt as if they were all around him. He could barely hear another sound in the air, like air rushing through leather it was. Stumbling as he advanced, Daylen looked ahead again, yelling in pain.

"What are you? WHY ARE YOU IN MY HEAD!" he screamed.

He grit his teeth together and stomped his feet into the ground. The haze of the flames became clearer, and again Daylen could see bodies piled on top of one another. Suddenly, a great mass landed on the bodies, spreading its wings. It reared its head back and spewed fire from its mouth. Daylen shielded his eyes and attempted to use his magic. But he found he could not, the light did not gather. Instead he clutched his sides, and bellowed out all of his pain. Blood burst from his mouth, his arms burned, the ground shook beneath him and the electricity surged around him. A great cloud of darkness hung over him and he felt his burnt arm expand, turning into some kind of monstrous claw. The last thing he heard was the roar of a dragon, and an eerie laugh.

* * *

Daylen had scolded the grass around him, his bed roll was frozen and he felt static shocks on his knees. Across the fire Alistair sat, resting one hand on his knee.

"A nightmare?" he asked.

"More like a terror," Daylen said.

"What was it about?"

"I could hear it, that voice I could hear when I sense the dark spawn, in fact, is that how you sense it too?" Daylen asked.

"A song right? Every Grey Warden describes it as that, that's what the nightmare is, the dark spawn hive mind. Quiet moments like when you're sleeping are when you're most open to it. A few of the grey wardens once said they understood how the dark spawn think, they also said people who take part in the joining ritual during a blight have the worst nightmares, though I don't know whether that is true," Alistair explained.

"Lucky me if it is," Daylen muttered.

"I am sorry for this, the nightmares are just something you'll have to endure," Alistair said.

"Anything else I'm supposed to know?"

"Expect a bigger appetite than usual, I ate for days after my joining," Alistair grinned.

Daylen chuckled, running his hands through his hair and lying back on the grass.

"So what can you tell me about Redcliffe?" he asked.

"It's one of the largest and most prosperous towns in Ferelden, considering it's the closest place between Orlais and Orzammar, so a lot of trade goes through it. Redcliffe castle stood for hundreds of years before the village was formed, the area's considered one of the first line of defences for Ferelden. Arl Eamon always told me that the country would never fall unless they took Redcliffe first," Alistair explained.

"I understand Arl Eamon raised you."

"Did I say that?" Alistair grinned. "I meant that dogs raised me, giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfels. A whole pack of them in fact."

"That's not what you told Flemeth," Daylen said, sitting up and looking at Alistair.

"Well if you're going to pay attention to the facts, fine. Let's see, how do I explain this? I'm a bastard, and before you make any smart comments I mean the fatherless kind. My mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe castle who died when I was very young, Arl Eamon wasn't my father but he took me in anyhow and put a roof over my head. He was good to me, and he didn't have to be. I respect the man and I don't blame him anymore for sending me off to the chantry when I was old enough," Alistair explained.

"Why did he send you there?" Daylen asked.

"Arl Eamon eventually married a young woman from Orlais, which caused all sorts of problems between him and the king, because it was so soon after the war. But he loved her, anyhow the new Arlessa resented the rumours which pegged me as his bastard. They weren't true but of course they existed, the Arl didn't care but she did. So off I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten, just as well, the Arlessa made sure the castle wasn't a home for me by that point. She despised me."

"I can understand her point of view, but it's an awful thing to do to a child," Daylen said.

"She felt threatened by my presence, I can't say I blame her, she wondered if the rumours were true herself I bet."

"Yeah, I never had that experience."

"You're a bastard yourself?" Alistair asked.

"My mother never told me who my father was, at least not in any great detail. Plenty of people made rumours or their own stories of course. Rival families called her a whore who slept with a complete stranger, romantics said she fell in love with a mysterious foreigner, a Rivaini is the popular one, explaining my skin tone and hair. Though some people have also said Tevinter," Daylen explained.

"She treated you well?"

"Yeah, for as long as she could anyway, maybe if she had been married or it was a man there wouldn't be so much shame around it," Daylen muttered.

"What do you mean?" Alistair asked.

"You never noticed? A lord has a bastard and that's that, it's a scandal, but its accepted, a lady has a bastard and it's a mark on the family. I never understood that, well actually I did but, I could not accept that," Daylen shook his head. "Nor could I really accept the hatred people have for bastards either."

"I got used to it, I lived better than most orphans would have. Better than most recognised bastards anyway, don't forget, not every bastard is recognised by a famous parent," Alistair said.

"Yeah, I think in Westeros they choose names for them, Sand for Dorne, Snow for the North, etc for other places."

"I hate that!"

"Me too, it seems like just a way of marking them, separating them from others."

Alistair's face grew solemn as they fire illuminated his face.

"I never knew my mother, but I was always told that an amulet I had was hers. It had Andraste's holy symbol on it. I remember being so furious at being sent away I tore it off and threw it at the wall and it shattered. Stupid, stupid thing to do," Alistair shook his head.

"The anger for me at being sent to the circle only came later in my life," Daylen said.

"You never had the option of seeing the people who raised you though, Arl Eamon did try to see me, but I refused to see him every time. I hated every moment at the chantry, eventually they just put me forward for templar training," Alistair explained.

"What was it like?" Daylen asked.

"Preachy!"

"So no different from circle mage training then?"

Both men hung their heads back and laughed.

"What was mage training like?" Alistair asked.

"Repetitive a lot of the time, they wanted me to keep learning things I'd already learnt, I was extremely young when I got there, younger than most of the mages actually so I think they were trying to keep my knowledge equal with everyone else. Growing up there wasn't easy though, even though we're sheltered somewhat, the people there, both mages and templars could be cruel and petty at times," Daylen explained.

"What do you mean?"

"There's politics there, groups, and the mages do what they can to entertain themselves. Gossip circulates, nick names, pranks, I admit I played a few tricks myself," Daylen said.

"Like what?" Alistair asked.

"My friends Jowan and Neria and I once played a trick on a mage who kept on trying to escape the circle, Anders, he never gave up. Anyway, he was staying in the full mage dorms, so we timed it perfectly. We put shit into a bag, lit it up and watched him stomp it out, but that isn't the funny part. Next time he escaped the templars tracked him down because of his smell," Daylen chuckled.

"He didn't get rid of his shoes?"

"Nope, Neria could carry her voice, one time she put on a very masculine voice, it surprised Jowan and I. Anyway, she put on this voice, carried it across the room in the chantry, she convinced a few of the praying apprentices that they were actually getting their prayers answered by the Maker," Daylen explained.

"What did she say to them?"

"She said for them to begin cleaning in their baths, that the answer would come to them like a great wind," Daylen said.

"I think I know where this is going," Alistair smiled in good humour.

"Anyway, they went to wash, Neria had us stay outside the door. The three girls are behind curtains, hot water in their baths. Neria got a bucket of cold water, tipped it over the curtains and Jowan and I hear this great EEEYAAGH!"

Alistair rolled his head back and laughed as Daylen chuckled.

"Wicked, oh maker, why didn't I think of that?"

Daylen stood up, brushing the dirt off of his legs. He held up his ruined bed roll and sighed, it was never a comfortable thing anyway, so he may as well sleep on the grass.

"You wonder how our new companion is doing?" Alistair asked.

He gestured to the hulking figure in the corner of the camp. Some time since they left Lothering, Daylen and Alistair came across a man attacked by the darkspawn. He was a merchant, and as thanks for saving his life was willing to part with a golem control rod. Daylen had read of golems, towering behemoths created by the dwarves, made from stone and iron, capable of crushing bone with their hands. But when Daylen, Alistair, Leliana and Alpha got to Honnleath, the darkspawn attacking it hadn't been the worst part. Daylen was a little disappointed when he saw that the golem was just a foot taller than the average man, hardly a giant. Clearly some sort of magic had been infused with the golem's hide, beyond the usual magic used to bring stone to life. More than that though, the golem had personality. Shale showed Daylen that perhaps books didn't quite have it right on golems. It made Daylen, had such a personality simply developed from the golem, or was it based on something that already existed. Of the religious beliefs that existed in the world, Daylen still believed in the concept of a soul. He doubted anyone could freely give a soul. The control rod didn't work, it required some kind of password to use it.

So Daylen and his companions went to the owners house. Matthias was the son of a Ferelden war hero, Wilhelm, after the man helped Maric and Loghain's rebellion against Orlais, he was granted freedom from the circle. Wilhelm was something of a hero to the mages in the tower. Daylen himself imagined following in Wilhelm's footsteps, aiding a noble or a king in such a way that he would be granted his freedom. The man's home certainly cost a grand reward to build, it had a network of tunnels that must have ran underneath the village itself. One part shelter, another part storage facility. When they found Matthias, he explained to them that Wilhelm had died in an accident involving the golem. Matthias's mother wanted no more part of the golem so she sold the control rod.

"I can give you the command phrase, but first, please I need your help, my daughter Amalia," Matthias's eyes spoke of his desperation better than words could.

"Forget the golem right now then, what happened?" Daylen asked.

He calmed the man down, and Matthias explained that his daughter Amalia ran into the deepest part of the tunnel. A part where Wilhelm had placed wards in to keep demons within imprisoned. It turned out, Wilhelm's skill wasn't in the elements or primal magic, but in his ability to bind demons. Magic the chantry deemed unholy, evil, had been used by someone other mages held up as a hero. As Daylen ran through the tunnel he thought of Wilhelm in a new light. Once outside of the Fade, demons weren't just embodiments of emotion, they were living things. Wilhelm used those living things as slaves to give the rebels an advantage. An evil act, that led to a nation's independence.

'Some decisions are justified I suppose,' he thought as he approached the barrier.

"What do you mean you've never climbed a tree, don't cats like to be in trees?" he heard Amalia asked.

Daylen narrowed his eyes in suspicion, who was the girl talking to? He passed through the barrier with the others, seeing the intricate chamber. Within its centre was a type of platform that Daylen could feel surging with energy. His attention was then drawn to the little girl, Amalia. She was knelt by a cat.

"Oh look, someone's come to play," Amalia said, her eyes lighting up. "You have come to play haven't you? We're playing a guessing game, its better with more people."

"We, whose we?" Daylen asked.

"Kitty and me of course, you don't see anyone else here do you? Anyway, you should go if you're not going to play, Kitty finds you distracting," Amalia knelt back down to the cat, stroking its head.

Alpha snarled, bearing his teeth, his fur shaking when he looked at the cat.

"The cat...finds me distracting?" Daylen asked, looking at the cat, his hand instinctively going to his knife.

"Kitty's clever, she says you'll want to take me back to my father, but I'm not going, she would be lonely," Amalia explained.

Then the cat's eyes began to glow and a voice echoed out of it. A woman's voice, gentle and smooth, but underneath it Daylen could hear the same words being spoken.

"You are so kind Amalia, I would miss you dearly if you left," a monstrous voice of sinister intent, hidden by the voice of a beauty.

"The cat...talks?" Alistair asked.

"Of course silly," Amalia giggled.

"Talking is simple enough, once you know how," the 'cat' said.

"I don't think talking to that cat is safe Amalia, get away from it," Daylen said.

"No, kitty's my friend."

"Nothing you say will convince Amalia to go with you, she loves only me now, I am her friend, while you are just a stranger," the demon said.

"I'm not leaving without Amalia," Daylen said.

"Come any closer and you will regret it, I have no desire to fight, only to leave this place. The Mage's wards keep me bound here, but, if you were to solve the mage's riddle, you would release the lock and grant me freedom," the demon explained.

"And Amalia?"

"I wish to see the world through her eyes."

"Possess her, fat chance, besides her father is waiting for her," Daylen said.

"People believe what they want to believe, whatever gives them hope. If the father hopes to see his daughter alive and unharmed, then perhaps he will," the demon explained.

Daylen looked towards the platform. It consisted of multiple tiles that slid along a mechanism. The tiles themselves had directional arrows on them. When he looked towards the trail of magic passing along one tile to the other, he understood that it was a puzzle. Already Daylen could see a possible solution and a way to save Amalia. He could solve the puzzle, utilise the distraction of the demon's freedom to weaken her hold on Amalia so that she could run free.

"Fine," he said. "I'll help you break the wards."

"No...I can hear it in your voice, you lie, you mean to deceive me! I will not allow it!" the demon seethed.

"No Kitty!" Amalia yelled.

"You will not take the child from me, she shall be mine forever!"

A dark cloud began to surround the pair. The cat floated off of the ground, turning to Amalia. She backed away a few steps before clutching her head.

"NO!" Daylen yelled as the cat glowed.

He tried to get near the cloud, but his arm suddenly surged with pain. Daylen fell to his knee and looked towards Amalia. The cat had disappeared and the girl convulsed. Then the cloud faded and Amalia emerged. A disturbing smile spread across her face and Daylen realised, this was not the girl. A white light consumed her body, changing her. Gone was the little girl, she grew taller, her form slimmer. Talons extended from her hands, silk robes covered her lower body and arms and chains formed on her breasts. Horns grew out of the sides of her head and she floated off of the ground.

"A desire demon," Alistair identified the creature.

Though it had the form of a voluptuous, purple skinned woman, it spoke with a monstrous voice.

**"I CAN SENSE THE FEAR IN YOU MORTAL!"**the demon yelled.

Portals of fire appeared in the ground and demons of wrath spouted from them. They screamed and burned the ground they slithered across. The Desire demon threw her arms around, releasing a shockwave that made Daylen stumble back. A blade grazed his shoulder, drawing blood from it. Alistair got in the demon's way as she threw another air blade, slamming against his shield. Leliana drew her knives and Alpha rushed towards the Desire demon. The Mabari jumped over the wrath demons and then pounced on the Desire Demon. She roared as the hound sunk his teeth into her wrist. They grappled, the demon throwing Alpha aside. But he had taken a chunk of her arm off, spitting the flesh onto the floor before running around a pillar to dodge the demon's spells.

'Save my daughter,' Daylen remembered Matthias begging of him.

Again his hand shook, the burnt hand that Morrigan and her mother had treated. Alistair stabbed one of the wrath demons with his sword and blocked the other's fist with his shield. Leliana dragged her daggers across the demon's side and jumped back to avoid the swipe of another. Alpha seemed intent on killing the Desire demon, dodging the blades of air she released and using his body weight to tackle her, knocking her off balance. One of her blades sliced through a wrath demon, truly Mabari were as intelligent as people said.

'Kitty no,' Daylen remembered the terror across the girl's face.

Fumes of dark smoke emanated from his burnt arm. His eyes slid into a pair of feral slits and he snarled.

"Fear, no," he growled. "RAGE!"

He rushed forward, slicing through the neck of a wrath demon. The Desire demon threw her wind blades, only for the dark tendrils around Daylen's hand to split them apart. She released electricity from her finger tips, but Daylen raised his hand. The electricity slammed into his hand, feeding the darkness around it.

"My anger, over what you did to that girl," he seethed.

Alpha bit the demon's ankle, tearing it and bringing her to the ground. Daylen drew his dagger and held it with both hands.

"WANNA FEEL THAT ANGER! YOU BITCH!" he roared.

Electricity sparked around Daylen and he rushed forward. Alpha jumped aside as Daylen drove his dagger through the Desire demon's chest. He snarled, drinking in the shock on the demon's face. Then, layers of her skin were suddenly peeled away, her horns broke apart, and her face changed. Daylen stepped back in horror, looking at the body of Amalia, pierced by his own dagger. He looked at his hands, before he let out a scream of anguish. It paled in comparison to Matthias's when he saw Daylen tearfully carry back her body. They lost time as Matthias grieved his daughter, and Daylen even helped burn her on a pyre.

"Take the golem, it has brought nothing but sorrow to our family, perhaps you can make better use of it," Matthias said.

"What will you do?" Leliana asked.

"It's further than Redcliffe, but I'll go to Denerim, there's nothing left for me here," he said.

Daylen nodded his head. Matthias lifted his bag onto his shoulder and turned away.

"Thank you," he whispered, "for at least trying!"

* * *

'What good is trying, when your failure results in tragedy?' Daylen thought as he sat and looked at the stars.

Shale would be useful, so that part of their mission had succeeded at least. But a little girl was dead, Daylen looked at his dagger and remembered the look of peaceful content on her face.

'I will not rationalise death, I will not,' he shook his head.

Then as he sat and thought about it he realised, she had died because he could not convince someone of his sincerity, false sincerity, he was a bad liar. He raised his head as Morrigan approached.

"You have added a golem to our merry band, yet you sit here and mope, what is it that happened?" Morrigan asked.

"Oh Morrigan, you do care," Daylen smirked. "I was hoping it would be bigger," he said and Morrigan laughed.

It wasn't an unpleasant thing to listen to, she was an attractive woman, beautiful even. But still Daylen was cautious, he knew he would need to be from now on.

"So did you grow up in the Korcari wilds?" he asked her.

"Why do you ask me such pointless questions? I do not probe you for useless information, do I?" she asked.

"You can ask me anything Morrigan."

"Beg pardon then whilst I jump for joy," she huffed. "What is it you asked me? If I 'grew up' in the wilds? A curious question, where else do you picture me?"

"For many years it was simply Flemeth and I. The Wilds and its creatures were more real to me than Flemeth's tales of the worlds of man. In time I grew curious, I left to explore what lay beyond. Never for long, brief forays into a civilised wilderness."

"And you remained unnoticed?" Daylen asked.

"For the most part, Flemeth taught me well. For all that I had been taught however the truth of the civilised lands proved to be...overwhelming," there was something in her eyes as she spoke, a feeling he had only seen when she and Flemeth parted.

For the briefest moment he saw shock, surprise, fear perhaps on her face.

"I was unfamiliar with so much, so confident and bold was I, yet there was much that Flemeth could never have prepared me for," she continued.

"Yet you continued on, very daring, that sounds like you," Daylen said.

"Equal parts daring and foolhardy, perhaps," she laughed.

"Only once was I accused of being a witch of the wilds, and that by a Chasind who happened to be travelling with a merchant caravan. He pointed and gasped and began shouting in his strange language, and most assumed he was casting some curse upon me. I acted the terrified girl and naturally he was arrested," she explained.

"That was quick thinking," Daylen said.

"Men are always willing to believe two things about a woman: one, that she is weak, and two, that she finds him attractive," Morrigan said.

"Whilst women assume two things about men: one, that they're smarter than them, and two, that they want to sleep with them. Wrong in both cases, I never thought you were weak for an instant Morrigan, and not many people would find this," he traced his hand over the burn mark on his face, "attractive."

"And did you assume I thought myself smarter than you?" Morrigan asked.

Daylen crossed his arms and tilted his head, giving her a look that spoke for itself.

"Well, you are correct in that, and did you not immediately want to bed me?" she grinned as he blushed.

"We'd at least have dinner first," he chuckled.

"I played the weakling and batted my eyelashes at the captain of the guard, child's play," Morrigan said. "The point being that I was able to move through human lands fairly easily, whatever humans think a witch of the wild looks like, tis not I. Not that I did not have trouble, there are things about human society which have always puzzled me, such as the touching-why all the touching for a simple greeting?"

"Touching?" Daylen raised his eyebrows, what kind of greetings had Morrigan been having? "Do you mean a handshake?" he asked.

"To begin with yes, what is the point of touching my hand? I find it an offensive intrusion," Morrigan said.

"Another assumption people make actually, that they can judge a person by a hand shake," Daylen said.

"What do you mean?" Morrigan asked.

"Plenty of people at the circle would talk as if it was all in the handshake. That a firm handshake was a strong person, or a weak one was a timid or lazy person, as if a person can be so easily judged," Daylen explained.

"I never thought of it that way, what a foolhardy way of judging someone," Morrigan said.

"Sometimes it could work, but you need more than a handshake, what else troubled you?" Daylen asked.

"There were many nuances that Flemeth could never tell me of, when to look into another's eyes, how to eat at a table. How to bargain without offending, none of these things I knew. I still do not understand it all, truth be told. But then I gave up long ago any hope of doing so. When I returned to the wilds last, I swore to Flemeth that I had no intention of leaving again," she explained.

"So the joke's on you then," Daylen said.

"You are a fine one to be pointing out the humour of fate. Shall we examine your predicament , on the whole? Let's not, I prefer the jest on me to the jest on you," Morrigan said.

"That's too bad, I would have wanted to trade, always wanted an old hag who talks to much for a mother," Daylen said and Morrigan laughed.

"Oh that part you do not want, and Daylen," she bent down, tracing her fingers over his burn mark. "There is something rather attractive about scars," she said and smirked as Daylen moved his head away.

As Morrigan walked away smirking, Daylen shook his head. True she was beautiful, but a lot of the time attraction ended at simply looking. She was dangerous, of that he had no doubt. Just as another could be dangerous. Leliana approached, holding a bowl of stew.

"I thought you'd be hungry, and I wanted to see if you were all right," she said.

"Thank you," he said, taking the bowl from her and setting it beside him on the grass.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Daylen raised his head, speaking the only lie he was good at.

"I'm just fine," he put on a smile.

Leliana looked at him for a moment, obviously analysing him as she had the men in Redcliffe. When she turned away, Daylen knew it was time to analyse her properly as well.

"So what would someone like you be doing in a Lothering Chantry?" he asked.

"And what is meant by 'someone like me'?" she asked, turning towards him, a subtle smirk crossing the corner of her mouth.

"You know, a beautiful, charming woman like yourself," he said.

"And there were no beautiful, charming women in the cloisters you'd think?" she chuckled. "You would be wrong, there were many young initiates in the Lothering cloister, all of them chaste and virtuous, it added to their mystique. Because then, they were forbidden, and forbidden fruit is the sweeter, no?"

"Haven't really tried, wouldn't actually, it is their way to abandon the physical. What of you?" Daylen asked.

"I took no vows, I was only affirmed," she said.

"So your fruit isn't forbidden then?" he smirked as he saw her blush.

"My fruit? Well, it is not technically forbidden, but it's not freely given either, not everyone gets a bite," Leliana said.

She blushed again as Daylen rolled his head back and laughed.

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation," she muttered. "The point is no, I did not take vows!"

"So...this vision of yours," Daylen said when he stopped laughing.

Her stance became less relaxed, vulnerable in a way, perhaps embarrassed. Yet still she faced him, her face showing her hesitation, but something else too.

"I knew this would come up sooner or later, I don't know how to explain, but I had a dream. In it there was an impenetrable darkness, it was so dense, so real. And there was a noise, a terrible ungodly noise, I stood on the peak and watched as the darkness consumed everything and when the storm swallowed the last of the suns' light, I...I fell, and the darkness drew me in," Leliana explained.

"You dreamed of the Blight?" Daylen asked.

"I suppose I did, that was what the darkness was no? When I woke I went to the Chantry's gardens as I always do, but that day, the rose bush in the corner had flowered, everyone knew that bush was dead, it was grey and twisted and gnarled, the ugliest thing you ever saw. But there it was, a single, beautiful rose, It was as though the maker stretched out his hand to say, even in the midst of this darkness, there is hope, and beauty, have faith."

"And this is what made you want to help me?"

"In my dream I fell, or maybe I jumped, I'd do anything to stop the Blight, I know that we can do it. There are so many good things in the Maker's world, how can I sit by while the Blight devours everything?"

"The Chantry says the Maker has left us," Daylen said.

"He's still here, I can hear him in the wind and the waves, I feel him in the sunlight that warms my skin. I know what the chantry says about the Maker, and what should I believe? What I feel in my heart, or what others tell me?" Leliana asked.

"Just believe what you feel is right Leliana," he said.

"Thank you, it's nice to find someone who agrees, I know what I know, and no one will ever make that untrue," she said.

Daylen nodded his head, smiling slightly. There was something very appealing in what Leliana said, yet still, he could not believe it. If he was younger, back at the circle, he probably would have nitpicked what Leliana had said, found some flaw in her dream and pointed it out. Some people could get flowers wrong, sometimes with enough light and water they recovered. Perhaps she was looking for just some form of light from a bad dream. Plenty of people were afraid of the dark, that kind of nightmare wasn't uncommon, it didn't mean they were predicting certain doom. She heard what people said about the Blight and her mind created a fiction. But he did not share these thoughts with her, there was one thing he had to shatter though.

"But Leliana, you saw what happened earlier, with the girl," he raised his burnt hand, the hand that the darkness had come from. "How could I be the light?" he asked her.

She had no answer for him then, and they moved on. When the caravan got to Redcliffe, they were greeted by armed villagers. Panic spread across the faces of the people they had saved from Lothering, only to deliver them into a new crisis. Some parts of Redcliffe had been burnt down, bodies piled into areas and burning. Families grieving and men setting up defences at the Chantry.

"Bann Teagan," Alistair called out to a man coordinating the others.

"Alistair, is that you?" the older man asked.

They grasped one another's shoulders, smiling.

"Loghain told us what happened at Ostagar, I knew he was lying, thank the Maker you survived," Teagan said.

"Daylen, meet Teagan Guerrin, Bann of Rainesfere and brother of Arl Eamon. Teagan this is my fellow Grey Warden, Daylen Amell," Alistair said.

Daylen put his fists to his shoulders, the standard Ferelden salute, an action that Teagan repeated.

"Who are these people who are with you?" Teagan asked.

"The villagers of Lothering, those whom survived the darkspawn arrival, a few are even survivors from Ostagar," Daylen said.

"You have survivors from Ostagar with you, let me see them, let me speak with them!"

Daylen guided Teagan to Marian and her family. After retrieving Carver they went to Aveline and some of the other soldiers whom survived. Once they gathered by the windmill overlooked by the castle, they told Teagan everything that had happened at Ostagar. Of Loghain's plan to support the king's reckless charge, the lighting of a fire at the tower of Ishal, and Loghain's betrayal.

"So it is as I suspected, Loghain abandoned the king, then pointed at the Grey Wardens," Teagan shook his head, sitting upon a rock and running his hands through his hair.

"We know that Loghain has declared the Grey Wardens traitors, but what has happened at Denerim?" Daylen asked.

"He called a Landsmeet, most of the Bannorn and Arling answered his call, with King Cailan dead, Loghain has declared himself chancellor of Ferelden, to rule during this time of crisis," Teagan explained. "He has declared Arl Howe the new Arl of Denerim, and civil war has unfortunately broken out."

"What?" Daylen turned to Teagan in shock. "Why? Why are they fighting now when the darkspawn are on the move?"

"Arl Howe, before Ostagar, he attacked Highever," Teagan said.

"But I thought that Rendon Howe and Teryn Bryce Cousland were friends," Aveline said.

"It seems that Howe concealed ambitions and resentment for years, when Bryce's eldest son Fergus took the majority of their men to Ostagar, Howe attacked the castle."

"Fergus Cousland's men never made it through the wilds, he's been missing ever since the Darkspawn ambushed them," Marian said.

"That leaves the closest heir unaccounted for. Howe's men slaughtered nearly everyone at the castle, included guests from Denerim, Bryce and his wife Eleanor, and Fergus's wife Oriana and son Oren," Teagan lowered his head as he spoke, closing his eyes in anger.

"How old was the boy?" Alistair asked.

"Five years," Teagan said.

Marian gasped, Carver grit his teeth together and Aveline punched the palm of her hand in anger. Their attention was drawn to Daylen and they saw the flame spark across his hand.

"I suppose people weren't willing to follow him after that," he said.

"Arl Howe couldn't kill the Teryn's younger son, Aedan Cousland, he managed to escape the castle, and has gathered some of the Banns to attack Amaranthine, he killed Howe's son Thomas, as well as Thomas's wife and child," Teagan explained.

"People won't follow Howe because he' s a traitor and a murderer, and the same now applies to Cousland right?" Daylen asked.

"That's correct!"

"Vengeance, " Daylen shook his head in disapproval. "Then again, I suppose I wouldn't know!"

"This is why we've come to Redcliffe, to get Eamon's support in calling a Landsmeet," Alistair said.

"I'm sorry Alistair, but I'm afraid my brother fell ill not long after Ostagar, Isolde has had the knights seeking medicine. Eamon has fallen into a deep sleep, he is alive, yet nothing can wake him. Not long after I returned from Denerim, another crisis befell Redcliffe, the castle was cut off from the village, a great mist formed over it. When night passed, undead creatures attacked the village," Teagan explained and the gathered group looked up at the castle in shock.

Daylen leant against the windmill, looking down at the village. He saw the villagers, all of them working to prepare defences around the Chantry. As Alistair spoke with Teagan, Daylen made his way down to the building.

"BEVIN! BEVIN!" a girl was screaming out.

She was a common born girl, blonde haired, and had clearly been crying. Daylen walked over and asked her what was wrong.

"My brother, by the Maker, I can't find him, he was with me in the Chantry and I turned my back for one moment," the girl said.

"Where is your mother?" Daylen asked.

"She, she was dragged off by the dead, and all we could do was watch," she said.

She had fallen to her knees, balling her eyes. Daylen knelt beside her, patting her back lightly.

"I will find him, I promise you I will find him, he's Bevin right? What's your name?"

"Kaitlyn!"

"Where's your house Kaitlyn?"

When she pointed it out to him, that was where Daylen started his search. It was a modest place, but no doubt a place where many happy memories had been forged. He heard a banging near the wardrobe and smirked. As he walked towards it, Leliana entered.

"Is anyone in there?" Daylen asked, knocking lightly against the door.

"What are you doing here?" a boy on the other side asked, trembling, though still gathering some courage. "This isn't your house, get out," he demanded.

On the other side, a blonde haired boy hugged his knees, shaking with fear and grief.

"Are you Kaitlyn's brother? Bevin, Kaitlyn's at the chantry sick with worry," Leliana said.

"I don't want to go back there, if I go back there Kaitlyn will cry and talk about mother, the priests will offer prayer, and that didn't help mother before...I hate it there, I hate it," Bevin said.

The terror and fear in his voice was obvious, but so too was the sorrow. He had watched his mother be dragged away, and could only assume she had become part of the Undead. It was a violation to her, as bad as rape, for her will to be defiled after death. This, Daylen imagined was what was going through the boy's mind.

"I hate the Chantry too Bevin, I can't stand being in one for more than a few minutes," Daylen laughed slightly, and he sat on the ground, leaning his head against the wardrobe. "But it's one of the safest places right now, you have a better chance there then in this wardrobe, why did you run out? Especially with your sister so upset."

Bevin lowered his head, what Daylen said made him think about his sister then, and he regretted not thinking of her before.

"I couldn't stop her crying, I couldn't say a damn thing, I didn't know what to say or what to do," he lowered his head.

His voice croaked and trembled because of the tears.

"Bevin, come back to the Chantry, stay long enough and you and your sister..." Leliana began, but was cut ogg.

Daylen had raised his hand, stopping her from speaking some kind of religious platitude. It probably would have helped, it probably would have been true even, but it wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"Keep talking Bevin, tell me why you came here," he said.

"My grandfather was a dragon slayer, we still have his sword, I thought that if I took the sword I could protect everyone," Bevin said.

"But then you came to the wardrobe," Daylen said, his voice full of understanding. "I grew up mostly in a tower, getting taught how to use magic, when it came to combat I got so scared of hurting people I ran off to hide in a wardrobe, it became a usual place for people who were scared, there was a time I couldn't go in there because someone was already hiding. Then I realised that hiding wasn't really being brave!"

"I suppose you're right," Bevin said, and sighed as he pushed against the door.

Daylen stepped away from the wardrobe and smiled at Bevin. The boy looked at him, in admiration, in awe, the fear was still there but there was something else too.

"Deciding to take up your father's sword is brave Bevin, and there's nothing wrong with a little fear too, caution keeps you smart and gives you an edge. Courage doesn't just automatically exist, it grows from fear, to be brave you have to be afraid first, it's about facing your fears. I have no doubt your grandfather was afraid Bevin, but he took up that sword and charged anyway," Daylen explained.

"Thank you, you're right," Bevin said.

"It was a good idea, I'll take it up for you Bevin, that's what I can do for you right now, the best you can do is go to your sister, you being with her helps more than you know."

Bevin reached into the wardrobe, pulling out a sword without a sheath. It was Elvan, a Dar'Misaan, a type of long sword. The boy knelt, lifting the blade and offering the hilt to Daylen. He took it, the handle was made of wood, a circular hilt separating it from the blade. Then there was the blade itself, Viridian, giving it a green/gray sheen, it curved only slightly, making it the ideal weapon to slice. He ran his hand over the flat end of the blade, nature runes had been set into the blade. Though it had been some time since it had been used, a whetstone would make it fit for purpose again.

"This is a good sword Bevin, I'll give it back when the fight is over, be with your sister, I'll be brave from this point on," Daylen grasped the boy's shoulder and smiled.

Leliana knew well the look that was on Bevin's face, the look of hope. As brother and sister embraced in the Chantry, Leliana walked to Daylen's side.

"This Daylen, this is why I think you are the light," she said.

She left Daylen to his thoughts. He lifted up the blade and pressed his forehead against the flat of it. He couldn't save Amalia, but he would save this village.

Next Chapter 6: In pursuit of monsters

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, the story of Redcliffe will continue in chapter 8. Next time we go to Chimeron and his plans in Westeros, whilst Revka finally takes on a handmaiden.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A Song of Ice and Fire

* * *

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 6: In Pursuit of monsters

Omega purred, Borosi devoured, Styx rowed and Chimeron read the map and listened. He was not sniffing the salt air, or feeling the wind, but on the lookout for something else.

"So that's why they're called the Fingers, they look like a hand," he chuckled.

"Why the Fingers?" Styx asked.

"There are all sorts of places across Westeros where one can find monsters, the Fingers just happen to be the closest. There's an interesting bit of history behind them you see, long ago there existed two significant lords of the Fingers, Dywen Shell and Jon Brightstone, both declared themselves king of the Fingers. In order to turn the tide in their war with each other, both hired Warlords from the Andals, thus the Fingers became the landing zone of the Andals that infested this country and whose descendents are considered natives today, ah the Fingers," Chimeron breathed deeply and sighed in bliss.

"What became of both would be kings?"

"They were betrayed of course, King Shell was roasted alive, and Brightstone was tortured and beheaded, and to add insult their daughters were taken by the very men who killed them, turned into bed warmers and wives," Chimeron laughed as if he had listened to a joke. "What the Andals don't like to admit to, is that when their ancestors landed, they left a bloody path in their midst," he frowned, his hand shaking in fury. "Why the Fingers you ask, because it is where the most bloodiest of conflicts began, a conflict that is still raged today, religion," he snarled. "The Andals brought with them the Faith of the Seven, considered the new gods today, outside of the North a vast majority of people believe in the seven, or at least claim to, its politically and socially convenient after all. I'm pretty sure most lords couldn't give two shits about this god or that god!"

* * *

King's Landing

Underneath the preaching of the Septon, there was another sound that threatened to fill the air. If the Septon stopped talking for but a moment he would hear a terrifying sound. A sound that made Cersei Lannister and her entourage struggle to contain their laughter. Robert was not present, Jaime and the children were though. Even Joffrey had some respect for Revka Amell at that moment.

"I want a new show father!" she suddenly called out.

The Lannisters coughed to keep it all in. Revka hung her head down, her mouth wide as she snored.

"You're saying it wrong, the line isn't will not it's 'YOU SHALL NOT PASS!'" she yelled.

At that point, everyone in the Sept was stifling their laughter. The ceremony ended and Revka rubbed her eyes as she walked out with Cersei and the children, the Lannister and Amell guards behind them. Cersei looked over her shoulder at the men, all of them in silver armour and mail, silver gauntlets over black boots, blue cloth masks over their mouths and silver helmets with nose guards. Some had blue coat of arms with white wings on them, the commander himself had great wing ornaments on the sides of his helmet. They all carried black shafted cross spears, the side blades shaped like wings.

"For as long as I knew the Amells, their personal guards had red armour, what has changed Revka?" Cersei asked.

"Oh," Revka perked up in surprise. "Well not long ago, Revion decreed that our elite fighters would now wear silver and blue, in honour of the grey wardens."

"And the new sigil?" Jamie asked.

"The White Swan legion, represented by the wings of a swan, there's the White Falcon under the command of Dayk, and the black raven under Revion in the Meadow," Revka explained.

"You're putting together your own private army aren't you?" Joffrey asked.

"It was an idea Revion had, as opposed to lords simply dragging boys off of the street or calling banners, there would be a singular army to represent the land, trained and equipped. Part of the education we include at the Meadow is mandatory military service, not something I would have agreed upon but Revion stated that no lord should have an army face their battles, an army should fight only for the interests of their home!"

"I've never agreed with lords having their own army, its primitive, no better than the hill tribes, there needs to be a standing army, trained by knights and loyal to the crown," Joffrey said.

"Revion actually hoped to lay the foundation for such an idea my prince."

The statement caught Joffrey off guard. He and Revion had never been friends, in fact when training once Joffrey had tried to kill the Amell heir, only to be humiliated. Though Joffrey was no great intellectual, Revka saw the intellect in his idea of a royal army, one Revion shared. One army, united by a singular purpose, the protection of the interests of their home state. The Amell legions would not be peasants dragged off of the streets whenever there was a grudge to be settled, but soldiers trained in how to properly fight and how to carry out a strategy.

* * *

Revion's decision had been met with some resistance. He decreed that, other than the household guard and town guards, the lords of the Meadow would turn control of their militias to the Amells. There weren't a great deal of houses in the Meadow that had fighting men. Those that did included House Darkwynd, House Sunflare and House Greenward. Though Selene was the only daughter of Richard Greenward, he like Luther Darkwynd was not willing to agree to a decree that limited his power and authority. Tiberius Merryweather Sunflare (a minor lord who clung to complicated names as badges of honour) had no great army, but he still bore a grudge against the Amell's for an affair that Dayk had with his daughter Carla. It had cost him a marriage with the Freys, and though the Amells gave him a dowry, he disowned his daughter due to her birthing Dayk's bastard.

Luther was the first to assemble his forces. The Darkwynd knights were ruthless, feared and known for the demonic armour they wore. Luther himself stood at the head of his infantrymen, wearing a horned helmet that concealed his face and pressing against the ground a double sided blade. Greenward had provided many more infantry men and cavalry, which Richard led alongside his brother Henry and two sons James and Godfrey. They did not directly join their armies on the field, splitting them apart instead. Sunflare joined his men with Greenward's, the man wasn't even in armour, bloated and out of breath he sat atop his horse. He was a contrast to the armoured and prideful Richard in his silver plate.

"How long have they insulted us Lord Greenward, taking the Meadow from you, opening its borders to elves and foreign traders," Tiberius said.

"It was something I would have done," Richard aimed a glare at the man, who cowered for a moment.

"Still, there are other insults, demanding we disband our personal armies, the Shame bedding my betrothed daughter, and making demands of you whilst married to yours," Tiberius explained.

On the Amell side of the field, a legion of silver armoured men prepared the camp that would be their home for the coming days. Revion was helping them, shirtless and digging a latrine pit.

"A rider approaches," one of the lookouts called.

Revion kept digging, instead the matter was left in the hands of his wife. Selene emerged from her tent, a black chest plate over her blue dress, she put on a pair of black gloves and was quickly flanked by two silver guards. They walked to the rider, who climbed off of his horse. He was a handsome, brown haired man dressed in a gold chest plate with a red, short cloak over it. Gold and red leather covered his trousers, pads his shoulders and a simple pair of gold and red wrist gauntlets covered his hands.

"Lady Amell, as beautiful as ever, where is Revion?" the man asked.

"Digging a shite hole Mister Bainan, how is your wife?" Selene asked.

"Still angry."

"Perhaps you shouldn't sneak away to see your mistress then," Selene huffed.

"Actually I haven't seen her in two months, I fear she'll think I'm neglecting her, as per Revion's instruction I have had Treetop's army absorbed into the silver legions. And in response to this rebellion I have come to offer my support, send me where you will lady general," Bainan explained, bowing his head.

"Thank you Uther," Selene wrapped her arms around the man, a hug he returned as if they were old friends.

Uther Bainan could barely be described as a lord. Even before the Amells, his family had governed a small patch of easily defensible land called the Treetop. Built on top of a great oak, the small town was one of the prosperous regions, having produced the majority of the grain for the Meadow. Uther and Revion had studied swordsmanship together, and grew as close as brothers. Many whispered that their friendship was much like Ned Stark's and Robert Baratheon, Revion representing the stoic and honourable Ned, and Uther representing the boisterous and womanising Robert. In actuality though neither were close comparisons to either men. When Uther reached the command tent, he took water instead of wine and treated many of Selene's hand maidens with respect.

"When can we expect Dayk to return with his men?" Uther asked.

"He won't be I'm afraid, he will remain in Highgarden," Selene said.

"Drinking and whoring I suppose," Uther chuckled.

"Actually it was Dayk's idea, he wishes to arrange a marriage between himself and Alla Tyrell."

"Alla Tyrell, granddaughter of Victor Tyrell, a cousin of Mace Tyrell, wouldn't have been my first choice of wives for him to settle for...I mean settle down with," Uther smirked as Selene shook her head at him.

"By arranging a marriage between himself and a Tyrell, he hopes to bring our two families together."

"So wait Selene, if Dayk is in the Reach, and Revion is here, whose looking after Resolute keep?" Uther asked.

"Who else could?"

Within the halls of Resolute keep, a furious representative of House Lannett, a cadet branch of House Lannister moved through the halls. Two silver guard opened the door to the dining hall. Set at the centre as always was the round table of Resolute keep. Some seats were empty but there were four currently occupied. A man in black garbs sat on one chair, crimson leather armour adorned his chest, wrists and calves. Fingerless gloves covered his hands and a scarf concealed his mouth. Across from him sat a taller man, a large red, sleeveless coat covered him, his right arm was covered by a chainmail sleeve and gauntlet, whilst his left had a gauntlet and fingerless glove to cover it. In front of him, resting on the table was a helm with gold wings poking out of the back of them. Another man sat facing the door, he was a dark skinned man with grey stubble across his face. His armour consisted of black plates worn over chainmail and red skirt armour. A black helm with a bear's head on it was set on the table in front of him.

"I have been kept waiting too long, the Lannisters always pay their debts, and they expect debts to be paid as well," the Lannett man said.

He looked to another man in the room, not sat at the table. The man appeared to be a farmer and was conversing with someone whose chair was facing away from the table, their back to the door.

"Just a moment," a near muffled voice spoke from the chair. "Please continue," a hand covered by black gloves gestured to the farmer.

"Well Mi lord!"

"I am no lord, simply an appointed representative of Lord Revion, though if it pleases consider me his second," the unknown man said.

"Thank you sir, you see with harvest coming soon I'm in need of hands to work the fields, my wife's pregnant you see," the farmer stated.

"Your first child?"

"Yes!"

"Congratulations, if memory serves you had two boys working your fields didn't you?"

"Aye sir, one has moved to the North to marry a girl, last I heard of the other one he was in the West, stupid boy took something from the market places, ended up taking the black," the farmer explained.

"I see, I will send a sister from the Chantry to support your wife, a pair of initiates can also assist you in the fields until the harvest period, at which point you'll need to have saved the money to pay for two farm hands yourself, are we clear?" the man asked.

"Crystal sir, crystal, and thank you again."

The farmer was smiling as he walked past the Lannett man. He looked to the turned away chair and snarled, making his way around the table.

"I heard a Lannister saying, Revion never borrowed from the Lannisters, the Lannetts however, I do recall a loan of a ship in exchange for some..."

"A storm overwhelmed the ship, and I demand compensation," the Lannett said.

"We paid you the price of the ship," the man said.

"That is not..." the Lannett man gasped when he saw the face of the man sitting in the chair.

Or rather he couldn't see the face of the man. He wore a white veil and hood wrapped firmly around his head. The Lannett man could only see the man's blue eyes, and pale skin. He saw that the man was wearing blue leather armour and a grey vest.

"Continue," the man said, gesturing with his hand.

"Who are you? Where is Lord Amell?"

"My name," the man said as he slowly rose. "Is Oliver, and does Tywin Lannister know you are here sir Lannett?" he asked.

"He-he..."

"Does he know that you are trying to embezzle money from us , when we've already paid the debt? Does he know that you skim a little bit of taxes for yourself, that you can afford luxuries some of his own cousins can't? He probably won't mind so much, unless he was to see clear evidence of your dishonour," Oliver explained.

"I, you, you gave additional money..."

"To the widowed families of the deceased crew, so as far as we are concerned, there's nothing more for us to discuss, but if you still feel that interest is required I suppose I could write a letter to Lord Tywin asking him what he thinks!"

"No, that, it won't be necessary," the Lannett trembled. "Forgive my intrusion and my temperament."

"Its forgiven, now get out, we have other people to see," Oliver said.

The Lannett man glared as he walked out of the room. Upon the door being closed, the two men with their helmets laughed.

"I thought he was going to piss himself, that old lion Tywin really is feared in the West," the man in red said.

"Well Cassius, he did eliminate one of his chief rivals, immortalising it in the form of the 'Rains of Castamere'," the man with the bear helm said.

"Slaughtered his rival would be a more accurate description Balthazar," Oliver said. "Kai!"

The masked man raised his head, standing up and uncrossing his arms.

"See to it that the Lannett man makes his way across the border, we don't want him interfering with Lord Revion's battle, just a precaution," Oliver explained and the masked man nodded his head.

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown," Cassius said, placing his feet on the table.

"If you get things right, it's quite simple, the land runs itself," Oliver said.

He tapped a sheet of paper on the table.

"Lord Dayk intends to marry a member of the Tyrell cadet branch, I believe this is a mistake we'll gain little profit from," he stated.

"Perhaps we should have the others present for this," Balthazar said.

"Revion gave them clear instructions, and he entrusted me with his will, or at least with what options are the best going forward. Lady Margaery has another hand maiden in her service, Mira Forrester, her family has priority over Ironwood trees in the Wolfs wood," Oliver explained.

"You intend to tell our young lord who he can marry?" Cassius asked, laughing at the end.

"Perhaps, moving forward we would need to forge bonds with powerful families, that is lord Revion's desire. The Reach, the North, the Westerlands, the latter of which will be the most difficult to forge a bond with, I will need to do more thinking, a lot of thinking," Oliver rubbed the bridge of his nose.

When he removed his hand, there was a speck of blood on it.

* * *

Chimeron walked through the cavern formed by the natural rock. He held up his torch, seeing the crabs and other sea based insects scurry away from him. Scouting the rocks he had found a few children playing in the caverns. They played the games he expected most boys played, knights and dragons, recreating great battles. When they saw him, they were already in awe of him, as Chimeron expected. He imagined he looked like a hero of some fairy tale, more so if he grew his hair longer. That had not always been the case though.

When the witch found him on the shore of Lake Calenhad, he was close to death, his right half burnt. It was fair, he supposed, after all he had burnt one side of his rival and marked his face for life. Although some scars weren't for life, as the witch showed him. Still when Chimeron looked into a mirror or a puddle, his mind's eye could see the 'monster' that the blood magic had wiped away. Though personally Chimeron didn't know why burns were considered monstrous, or those whose growth was stunted, Eunuchs, those afflicted with grey scale and the like.

'Why are they considered monsters?' he shook his head in dismay. 'People are very foolish, they have yet to see real monsters.'

"Or rather, they have already seen monsters," he grinned as he began to sing.

_"And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low?_

_"Only a cat, of a different coat, that's all the truth I know._

_"In a coat of gold, or a coat of red, a lion still has claws._

_"And mine alone are sharp my lord, as long as sharp as yours._

_"And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere._

_"But now the rains weep o'er his hall, with no one there to hear._

_"Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall, and not a soul to hear."_

"Lord Tywin Lannister, I look forward to the day we meet," Chimeron laughed.

Once he had scouted out the caverns, he went back into town. Omega and his other companions hid, and Chimeron bought with his money some salted beef, bread, cheese and two flasks of wine. A man with so much at his table could draw the hungry in, and Chimeron knew what he was. To some he seemed an ideal meal ticket, he was a mystery that some may want to solve, a man with a sword to befriend, or a handsome man whom may make a good bed warmer and husband. A local drunk was eager to drink and laugh with him, a hedge knight joined them, curious over who Chimeron was. Two girls took Chimeron's bait, one sitting closest to him to the chagrin of her companion. Then there was a red priest.

"So Sir, whom are you sworn to?" the hedge knight asked.

"No one, and I am no sir, just a man who has worked hard for what he has, what of you?"

"I have not yet sworn my sword to anyone, I am deciding things at the moment. In the Meadow lord Revion Amell is preparing to engage rebels against his rule, and in the Reach I hear that Dayk Amell has financed a tourney, either way I will have a chance to show my skills and hopefully pledge myself to a worthy lord," the knight explained.

"I knew an Amell once," Chimeron muttered.

"What brings you to the Fingers?" the red priest asked.

"I'm searching for something you see," Chimeron said.

"What is it?" one of the ladies asked.

"You do strike me as the kind of man who is looking for something, though I do not think it is as simple as gold or flesh," the priest said, his words off putting for some of the people on the table.

"You're right, I've been searching this country for something I sometimes fear I won't find, or perhaps I have found it and like many others in this land I deny it, perhaps my expectations are too high," Chimeron explained.

"Perhaps I can help, it is what I am here for after all."

They had bought a small barrel of wine, and halfway through that Chimeron invited them to his camp. The two ladies were fascinated by him, and both wanted to see how far they could take their advances. Chimeron offered to travel with the hedge knight the day after, whatever path he took. The local man was there for the food, and the red priest was as fascinated by Chimeron as he was by him.

"You are from Thedas you say?" the priest asked.

"Yes, there we worship the Maker, the one god of this world," Chimeron said.

"There is only one god, the lord of light, he who has helped us to drive away the great darkness, and he who will help us again, his fire shows us the way," the priest explained.

"Perhaps, I have doubted both the Maker and the seven."

When they returned to the camp that Chimeron had made in the cavern, they drank and ate for a little bit before Chimeron stood up.

"Do you know what this place is?" he asked.

Looks of confusion spread across the faces of those he had gathered.

"You see during my years in Thedas, I developed a theory, one many dismissed. Lyrium, both the dwarves and the Chantry control its trade. Now I can't speak for the dwarves, but I've always believed that the chantry had control because they knew how it was formed, from the aftermath of great tragedy," Chimeron explained and when he saw the looks of further confusion he grinned.

"It's the blood you see, like seeds they seep into the ground, and over the ages we have lyrium fonts form. Mage blood in particular, why do you think all the circles are formed at places where the veil is weak, surely it would make more sense to reduce the chances of possession by building circles in places where the veil is strong, when a mage is possessed, they have an excuse to kill them, to let their blood flow into the dirt," Chimeron traced his hand over the rocks and smiled.

"Is magic real, is there truly magic in Thedas?" one of the ladies asked.

"Nonsense, with dragon's extinct mages have long since passed from this world," the hedge knight said.

"Oh how narrow viewed of you, the world is bigger than Westeros and Essos, it's bigger than Thedas. There are lands out there with methods of magic even the elves do not know of, say red guy," Chimeron said, catching the priest's attention. "You fire priests are big fans of blood magic right?"

"There is power only in the blood of kings," the priest said.

"Why?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why? Why on Earth would you come to the ridiculous conclusion that there's some difference between the blood of a king and the blood of a peasant, how laughable," and Chimeron did just that, rolling his head back. "Take away the crown, the gold, the armour and the army, and you'll find that there is absolutely no damn difference between a king and a peasant. The weight of their life is equal, that being said morally speaking they are both equally as worthless. But that's the problem with religion, is tries to hypocritically place a value on life. 'God loves all,' 'but monarchs are closest to god'."

Chimeron turned to the rest priest and grinned. The shadows emerged from the darkness, one dragging its blade across the stomach of the local man. Guts and entrails leaked onto the floor and the man fell to his knees, futilely trying to keep them in. The second shadow stabbed the Hedge knight's sword hand, and then sliced his tendons. Chimeron drove his sword through the red priest's chest.

"How I despise religion, how I despise the concept of god, what a ridiculous idea that shows how truly pathetic people are. Leaders can't lead on their own merits, so they create a fiction to enforce fear and promote order. Followers can't see the wonders in front of them, so they must conform to a story, a false promise that if they live their lives a certain way and bow their heads then they will be rewarded. IT'S FUCKING PATHETIC!" Chimeron dragged his sword out of the priest, leaving him to fall to the ground.

The two women screamed, only for the shadows to block their way out of the cavern. Chimeron turned to the wall, removing one of his gloves.

"When the Andals slaughtered the kings of the fingers, they weakened the veil and created a font of lyrium, just enough for me to use blood magic even with the influence of the wall," Chimeron stated.

He bit into his hand, drawing blood, then he slammed it into the wall. Layers of rock broke apart as the cavern shook. Sections of the wall melted, revealing shining blue rocks. But slowly, the blue shifted into red and a song began to fill the air. At least that was the closest thing the ladies had to describe it. Chimeron pulled a shard of red lyrium off of the wall, smirking as it stretched in his hand.

"Sir knight, you wanted to serve a worthy lord, well allow me to oblige you," Chimeron suddenly threw the make shift spear across the cavern.

It struck the knight, piercing through his chest. He screamed in utter agony as his eyes glowed red, a light gushing forth from his mouth. Shards of red lyrium burst out of his back, and through his arms. He recoiled on the floor, still screaming as Chimeron let his blood drip onto the floor.

"You both wished for new lives, let your desires be fulfilled," he said to the two ladies.

From the drops of his blood they emerged, beautifully terrifying, demons of desire that flew towards the two women. They screamed as the demons passed through their bodies. Both women looked at one another in horror, it was as if insects were crawling through their skin. One stepped back, clutching her head and then lifting it up, she screamed before blood burst from her mouth. The other fell to her knees, blood leaking out of her nose and mouth. With a swish of his hand, Chimeron levitated the corpse of the local man and the still breathing red priest.

"But you're right, there is power in blood, it can bind, and it can summon," he squeezed his hand into a fist, eyes glowing red as the Fade began to partly appear through the cavern.

The red priest screamed as his body was broken and folded inside out. Bones crunched and his screaming ceased when there was nothing but a ball of fabric and crushed flesh. The same had been done to the local man. Singularities formed from their remains and ghostly figures emerged from those portals.

"Yes, come on, come on, come here to me," Chimeron urged the forms onwards.

The ghostly formed shifted, the one on the left becoming a type of grotesque, bull sized snapper turtle, its shell formed of numerous stones that sparked with electricity. Then the one on the right, whom had once been the rest priest became a crustacean, snipping its razor bladed pincers, emerging from a viciously elaborate shell.

"That's it, return to this world, be ready to unleash your rage upon it," Chimeron laughed.

Both monsters glowed, and then took on the form of men. The turtle became a tall, bearded man with a green coat of arms, a sigil emblazed on his chest of a ring of six stones. Then the crustacean became a lanky man with a white and black doublet, his half cloak had on it the sigil of a shell on a blue field. One man wore a crown of beautiful shining stones, and the other wore a crown of sea shells.

"Welcome back Kings of the Fingers," Chimeron said.

The men, fading in and out of existence looked at Chimeron. A red mist emanated from their eyes as they bowed to him.

"Master!" they both said.

He smiled, his spell had worked, his plans could begin. It was time to think bigger.

* * *

Revka tapped her gold hand as she walked into her office. Waiting for her was Tyrion and the guest she had been expecting for some time. She was a red haired girl, beautiful, though her eyes were cast to the floor as Revka walked in.

"Chin up girl I'm not the queen," Revka said.

"Lady Revka, may I present Kira, I believe she will be..."

"Sorry Tyrion, I need to be straight, Kira, I don't need a Handmaiden, I run my baths I write my letters and I brush my own hair, I don't need someone to pick my nails or my clothes out. I know you've taken Lord Tyrion's offer because you want to get away from Baelish's brothel, this however is not a charity case," Revka explained.

"I understand My lady," Kira said.

"You speak well, can you read and write?" Revka asked.

"I can, lord Baelish had me serve as a companion to lords, customers who paid well but..." the girl lowered her head slightly and Revka stepped up to her, looking her up and down.

"Your appeal once was that you were a virgin, and Baelish could convince customers you were a virgin, now though, you are a young woman, a beautiful woman," she said.

"Thank you Lady Revka," Kira said.

"I'm simply stating a fact, consider yourself lucky Kira, this is an opportunity I know plenty of women their deserve, some of them probably more than you, so don't take it for granted, ever young lady," Revka explained and Kira nodded her head.

"I won't, and I know that you have done a great kindness for me, I will be forever grateful for it," Kira bowed her head and Tyrion smiled as Revka placed her hand on the girl's shoulder.

"There is strength in you Kira, let me help guide that, I will give you work, you will accompany me, act as additional eyes and ears. It is an opportunity, but do not think it a kindness yet...you must have some great iconic speech prepared Tyrion," Revka looked down at Tyrion who shrugged his shoulders.

"I'd probably say something along the lines of 'you're in the great game now, and the great game is frightening'," Tyrion said.

"That actually does sound quite good, if you said it with a bit more oomph," Revka pumped her fist and turned to her desk. "Is there something else Lord Tyrion?" she asked.

"Only to ask if you will be joining me for a drink this evening?"

"Another time I'm afraid, I wish to have an early night, I'll be leaving for my estate tomorrow morning," Revka said.

"Very well Lady Revka, I will wish you good night and safe journey tomorrow," Tyrion said.

He bowed his head and then walked out of the room. Revka took up a cup and jug and poured some wine into it. Then she removed her golden hand, placing it with a clunk on the desk.

"Out of all the Lannisters, Tyrion is probably one you can trust more than the others, but that is still a stretch, now be straight with me girl, are you a spy for him or Baelish?" Revka asked.

"I..."

"Before that, know that I pride myself in being able to spot certain tells, every time you lie you look to your left, it's quite a common tell, you've not been with a man have you?" Revka asked.

"No my lady I haven't," Kira said.

"Baelish didn't keep you for rich men did he?"

"No, it was much crueller than that in a way, they say men are vicious things, but we women can be just as monstrous," a small tear slid down Kira's cheek.

"Show me," Revka commanded.

Kira turned around, loosening the laces on her white dress. She pulled her dress off of her shoulders, and revealed a tapestry of scars and bruises.

"Baelish only had one rule, never touch my face, break my skin, but never cut so deep that it could kill me, there are women whom have everything in comparison to me, everything but the love of another, so all they have is hate," Kira explained.

"I know these kind of people, I know this kind of hatred," Revka said.

"Do you?" Kira asked, looking at Revka with a glare.

"My niece once struck the prince, he painted a story about how she and her friend attacked him. The queen knew he was lying, but she wanted to punish them both, not because she cared about the law or thought she would protect her child's pride or life, she wanted it because she was cruel and wanted to see those beneath her suffer. So, as I was their guardian, and since I myself had struck the prince, I took a blade and cut off my hand, unflinchingly and then I threw it at her feet," Revka explained.

"You cut off your own hand? Why?" Kira looked at the woman in shock.

"Because fuck that bitch, that's why," Revka said, smirking.

"My lady I..."

"I will teach you to be strong, but in the end, it is a choice you must make, I will teach you how to survive the game and still keep hold of your pride, to be better than your opponents and not simply beat them. Now tell me, who are you spying for, Tyrion, Baelish or Varys?" Revka asked.

"All of them my lady," Kira said, "they all offered me something."

"I see, well I will try to make your life as good as I can, I will treat you as a friend...if that isn't enough, know that whilst we Amells seek first and foremost redemption and righteousness, there is something to be found in forgiveness, but know this...sometimes we'll take revenge too!" Revka explained.

Kira nodded her head, seeing the resolve in Revka's eyes and believing her completely.

"Good," Revka smiled. "Now come, share a drink with me, and tomorrow, we'll start discussing your future."

She poured a drink for the young girl and smiled as she took it.

* * *

Further away, in the cold of the night, at a camp fire near Snakewood, Chimeron sat with his new companions. The two women from the fingers had red robes wrapped around them, both huddled together, their eyes giving off a red haze as Borosi gave them pieces of meat from the spit. A boar that the two women had slaughtered themselves. Chimeron looked to the hedge knight, now a red knight, standing constantly on guard. The young man stood up and walked away from the camp, adjusting the cloak he was wearing. Omega joined him, rubbing against his leg and purring.

"It was a good day today girl, five valuable companions, and I got to screw over that fucking red church," he reached into his pocket and pulled out a red lyrium stone.

Omega began to dig a hole into the dirt, and Chimeron threw the stone into the hole. As his dire cat buried the stone, Chimeron sat and looked up at the stars.

"Well girl, it's a long way to Castamere, and to be completely honest with you, I don't think I'm ready for it. To be so close to that family, to use the spell on that many. It took all I had to bind those Finger kings, and let's face it they weren't exactly the most powerful of the Westerosi families. What awaits in those mines at Castamere will help me, but I'll need to get strong, I imagine he's stronger over in Thedas as well," he grinned.

The Dire cat laid beside him, rubbing her head against his open palm. Chimeron reached into his bag and took out a book, its pages encased within a brown leather cover that read _'A history of kings and queens before conquest'. _Then he pulled out his map, unravelling it and looking at where he was.

"The last king of the Vale was just a boy, hardly worth the effort of getting through the bloody gate, Torrhen Stark bent the knee and they keep all of the bodies in that tomb. House Hoare ruled the isles and the rivers, but they took that from House Greyiron from the Islands and House Durrandon of the Stormlands took the Riverlands from House Teague, the River Kings. House Gardner, kings of the Reach," Chimeron moved his finger from the Reach to the Westerlands. "House Rayne wasn't the only house to be destroyed by the Lannisters, the first lords of Casterly Rock, they never took the name kings, but there's no denying that is what House Casterly was," he explained.

Omega nudged his elbow with his paw.

"What is it girl?" he asked.

She let out a snarl, pawing at the area that the Meadow was.

"Ah yes, the Meadow, you're absolutely right girl, I don't have to rush my plans, I need to establish myself first, winning over a few small folk is good, but an up and coming noble family? Steadily growing in its power and influence? And **his **family, oh I can't resist the opportunity girl, we're going to war now, to help our rival's family," he chucked as he rolled up the map and returned to camp with his cat, his plan for the future set.

Next Chapter 7: In pursuit of dragons

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter. The new look of the Amell guards was shamelessly inspired by the Gondorian soldiers of Lord of the Rings. With new characters Balthazar and Kira I mind-cast Idris Elba and Daisy Ridley respectively. Did some heavy research with the A Song of Ice and Fire Wiki for my future plans involving Chimeron, there was also some inspiration from a discussion I had with 00virtuezero too.

Next time, James Marcher/Fausten finally finds Daenerys and Viserys.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire or Dragon Age

The following segment has used part of the History and lore feature of Game of Thrones, as narrated by Viserys Targaryen.

* * *

Game of Dragons

It was a gentler time, when Viserys still had compassion within his heart, when Daenerys could still see the love her brother had for her. When that love was not some petty lust. She was still a child, bored of the travelling, looking up at the stars from the window of whatever guest house or inn they stayed at. It was a night like that, when Viserys read to her.

"This world wasn't always so small and petty," he began, at this point in time he didn't need a book.

Viserys had his faults, but when it came to the history of their family, Daenerys thought he knew everything.

"Thousands of years ago, while the rest of men prayed to gods, the Valerions became them. Through magic or sheer will, they mastered the greatest creatures in history. A horse grants man dominion over the land, a ship over the sea, but dragons gave us the sky, and everything and everyone beneath it."

As her brother spoke, Daenerys imagined such majestic and magnificent creatures. She imagined them flying across the skies, through the clouds and over the towers of the cities of her ancestors, the Valerions.

"At its height, our ancestors ruled the known world, whatever parts we didn't, weren't worth knowing. Our capital of Valyria shamed the magnificent cities of the east, for hammers and chisels were no match for dragon fire and sorcery. It was a city and an empire, built to last until the end of time, it didn't," that dark tone in his voice filled Daenerys with dread.

"Four hundred years ago, the doom fell on Valyria, mountains cracked open like eggs, lakes and rivers boiled, fountains of fire and ash and smoke spewed from the ground, so high, and so hot that even dragons burned in flight." Daenerys imagined the great fires consuming the once great city, the dragons falling from the sky and it brought a tear to her eye. "And the angry sea rushed in, in hours, the greatest city in history, became history."

Seeing the look of shock on Daenerys face put a reassuring smile on Viserys's face. He held it before continuing.

"But our ancestors didn't burn or drown with the rest of their race. Twelve years before the doom, despite the sneers of his rivals, Aenar Targaryen abandoned the capital with his family. Legends claim that his daughter foresaw the destruction of the city in a dream, more likely Aenar met with some mishap at court and chose exile over execution. He and house Targaryen slinked away to a dreary, remote, god forsaken island, forsaken, no longer. With arts now lost to the world, we transformed a tiny outpost into Dragonstone, a fortress fit for the last dragon lords. Then Aenar's descendents settled into it like a tomb for their lost homeland. Until Aegon!"

She could see it, and saw it every night in her dreams. The great fortress that was once their home, where she had been born, and where the last of her family had been driven away. And every night she saw her ancestor, looking to the horizon from the castle wall, imagining the future.

"When he looked east, he saw the past, old, tired, dead, but when he looked west, he saw the future. Gold in the ground, gold in the fields, and no dragons in the sky but his. He and his sisters, Rhaenys and Visenya flew over the great continent, ostensibly visitors to a strange land, but when Aegon returned, he ordered construction of a massive table, carved in the shape of Westeros, with all the notable rivers and mountains they had seen, a personal map of the seven kingdoms, then ruled by seven squabbling families."

"House Durrandon held the Stormlands from their seat at Storms End, due South of Dragon's stone," that statement invoked within Daenery's mind the image of that house, the yellow flag with the black stag, its neck crowned.

"House Hoare of the Iron islands, had also conquered and enslaved the Riverlands, and ruled them from Harrenhal, a monstrous castle rising from the shore of the Godseye," she imagined the complicated, chained Sigil of that house, with its black raven, gold long ship, pine tree and grapes split apart by those chains.

"House Stark held the frozen wasteland of the North, the oldest, largest and emptiest of the kingdoms," there was the subtle hatred in the voice of her brother, as well as the image of the grey dire wolf.

"House Lannister ruled the Westerlands, the wealthiest kingdom thanks to their gold mines," the hatred was more in Viserys's eyes, and Daenerys understood why, their gold lion on a red field was a mark they would spit upon.

"House Gardener held the Reach, the second wealthiest kingdom thanks to their crops," Viserys inspired in Daenerys the green hand of the now extinct house.

"House Arryn held the Vale, or rather the Vale held them, the mountains were impassable except through the bloody gate, which had never been taken," she thought of what such a mountain would look like, with the flag of the white falcon on it.

"House Martell held the deserts of Dorne, probably because no one else wanted them," the dismissal and subtle humour in his tone made her laugh, as she pictured the spear piercing the sun.

"The Seven kingdoms made Westeros, a realm that wasn't yet a realm ruled by great families who didn't know what greatness was. Aegon would teach them!"

She held on to every word he spoke. He was her brother after all, but often she yearned to hear another story. This was when he was still willing to speak it.

"Tell me," she whispered.

"Dany!" he shook his head, chiding her.

"Please, tell me of the Eighth kingdom, tell me of the Meadow!"

"Well my sister, firstly the Meadow was never formerly recognised as a kingdom. In the centuries before Aegon's conquest, it was a simple patch of land where the undesirables resided. Savage clans of human tribes, elves, there were even caverns that dwarves resided in. The people of that land held a deep connection with it, with the balance of nature in that land, and with the magic of it. Some years before Aegon's conquest, a wizard taught and raised a boy, turning him from a simple farmer, into a leader. The Wizard forged a sword, the name of which has been lost to us, yet it held the power to unite the lost peoples of the Meadow. Together, he and the boy created a place where the anger of elves faded, where the selfishness of dwarves was shattered, and even the ambitions of humans was replaced with serenity. Together they created a self sufficient society, said to be a fair society, and a peaceful one, where the young warrior ruled not from a throne, but a round table."

Her brother's story stirred romantic feelings of such a great world in Daenerys's mind. She could see the table within the centre of the forest, the armoured warrior raising a beautiful sword high, the wizard beside him, face hidden by his hood.

"Some say this man was the inspiration behind the stories of the legendary knights, others that the place he created was that place, though many continents have claimed to be the origin of the story of the knights of round. What is known, is that this incredible place was one that people wanted. The Lannisters tried to take such a place, yet fell, House Hoare and others whom ruled the lands they owned before them tried and failed, even House Stark once attempted a conquest of the Meadow. Yet each time they faced with an enemy, the legendary warrior drove them away. Some say the very forest his home was built around drove them away, others the more logical course that the caverns owned by the dwarves served as ideal places of ambush. Yet no source ever disputed the great strength that the warrior possessed, his skill with the sword. When Aegon had conquered the regions surrounding the Meadow, he set his sights on that land."

"Can you tell me **the **story, please," Daenerys begged him.

"Fine, fine," he laughed and shook his head.

When he did speak of the story, he always spoke it eagerly. Now he never spoke it, but back then despite his protests it was a story he wanted to tell. For it was a story held in the deepest regards by the Targaryens. Aegon himself wrote the first volume of it after his conquest. He wrote it and decreed that no amendment ever be made of it. What he wrote, most wondered whether it was the ravings of a madman, if he was trying to justify his failures, or if he possessed the flair for the dramatic all writers had.

The first interaction that the Targaryens had with the Meadow, was when Rhaenys flew over the region. Her eyes were drawn to a hill top, where, a hooded figure stood. She described how the man casually waved up at her, as if the sight of a dragon was nothing surprising to him. Later, after conquering the much larger families, Aegon sent Visenya to show the power and authority of the Targaryens.

"Bend the knee, or burn," she said, never one for the gentle approach.

"Before we answer, let us ask a question," the Wizard said. "How many dragons do you have?" he asked.

"Three," Visenya boasted, speaking of Balerion the biggest of them all, whose fire could level a mountain, of her own dragon, unmatched in ferocity and Rhaenys dragon, Meraxes.

"Oh, that shouldn't be a problem," the wizard said.

Visenya was angered, how dare this single man make light of dragons, of her family? So great was her anger that she drew her Valerian steel sword, Dark Sister. But as soon as she drew the blade, her strike was parried by the warrior. His sword was said to be so great that it shook Visenya's arm, she knew a strong opponent when she found one. Aegon first called upon armies to strike at the Meadow. He called upon the armies of the surroundings regions, already fearful of the stories of the Meadow, some even survivors of past attempt to conquer it, suffered greatly at the hands of the fast and merciless strikes of the Meadow's residents. The Meadow was not so vast that it would prove as difficult to take as Dorne, yet it was called 'the one year campaign'. For the Meadow held, and finally, in the last few months of the conflict, all three dragons converged on the Meadow. Aegon wrote of how, with a raise of his hand, the wizard conjured a great barrier that covered the entire meadow. It was only when the dragon's tired, that he dropped it. Though the fatigued dragons couldn't use their fire, they still had their wings. On the day of their great battle, lightning filled the sky, and avoiding the clouds, Aegon saw from atop Balerion, the wizard, plodding along the grass, even waving to him as he had Rhaenys.

"You are not invincible," Aegon said.

"And neither are you," replied the wizard.

Aegon was fearful for the first time in his conquest, for he had heard the wizard's voice within his own mind. Pillars rose from the ground, trees from the forests, forcing the dragon's to fly higher. But Aegon would not be denied. He swooped down on the Meadow, intent on killing the wizard and the warrior. But to his shock, Balerion was brought down by a great gust of wind. His dragon hurt, Aegon faced the great warrior in one on one combat. A great warrior himself, Aegon and the warrior fought for hours. In desperation, he called upon Balerion to breath fire on the warrior, damn his honour. At point blank range Balerion spat fire onto the unifier of the Meadow. Yet when the flames passed, the warrior was unscathed. He had been protected by the wizard, the only damage he had suffered was a burnt off sleeve. The warrior raised his sword to finish off the conqueror, but at the last moment, the wizard touched the warrior's arm.

"I believe we've made our point," he said.

None besides the Dornish had pushed the Targaryens to such limits. Terms were met, and the legendary warrior agreed, his life for the lives of those whom lived in the Meadow. He walked into the flames, willingly to death. As for the wizard, the last the people of Westeros ever saw of him, was a hood hung by the window of Aegon's bed room.

That was the time when he was happy, before the hope faded from Viserys heart, and all that was left was resentment.

* * *

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 7: In pursuit of dragons

Daenerys looked upon the statue of their host. In his youth, Illyrio Mopatis had been a sell sword, slender, tall and handsome. Today, he was a morbidly obese man with an obscene yellow beard. Though Daenerys could often smell the perfumes on him, when in a room alone with him, she could smell the stench caused by the severe sweat that accumulated on his persons, and the problem of his bowels. Though far from the servant they were hoping for, the Magister of Pentos was their only friend and the only one to show them kindness for a while. Living in his manse, they were safe, hidden, but every night, whilst her brother drank and ranted bitterly, she wondered just how long into the assassins found them. There had been times when she was younger when Daenerys remembered running off in the night in her brother's arms, wondering if they left because of assassins, or some threat their hosts represented. For a few months they had been staying with Mopatis and so far he had been a good host.

"You said you could help us, tell me Magister, was that a lie?" she heard her brother speaking.

She walked around the statue, seeing emerging from the garden her brother and the Magister. Her brother in a Pentosi noble doublet, and the Magister in a robe custom made to fit his girth. The prince, self styled king walked with a grace and discipline, his frown set. Mopatis stroked his beard as he walked.

"Of course not your grace, with every day that passes, the anger of the common folk and the abuses they suffer at the hands of the usurper increase. In secret noble ladies cling to the Targaryen banners they have made and the lords pray for your eventual return, but unforeseen circumstances have arisen," Illyrio explained.

"What circumstances?" Viserys demanded.

"My hope, once Daenerys had been properly prepared, was to suggest marrying the princess to Khal Drogo, a year by now he would have been the most powerful Khal of the Dothraki, but a few months ago his Khalasar was wiped out. Reports indicate that it was an up and coming mercenary company, led by a man named James Marcher, already he has protected several cities from Dothraki hordes, his status grows with each day," the magister stated, leading Viserys to his statue.

"What is the name of this company?" Viserys asked, his eyes betraying his fascination.

* * *

Phoenix Wing was the name James had chosen for the company. At the head of his cavalry, James raised his spear high, a spear that bore the flag of his company. Simple wings that rose from the flames of a black field. His horses, the black and purple armoured warriors on top of them, slammed into the line of Unsullied. Their master had begun a daring march through the territories surrounding Pentos, intending to take slaves from nearby settlements. James and his company took a contract from the local people, their payment not being gold, but favours.

Favours were just as valuable to James as coins. They provided food, wood for their bows and arrows. As James's battalion rode away from the Unsullied, their dazed enemies were struck by a volley of arrows. Durad and Alexa knocked back another set of arrows with their battalion, their projectiles struck the Unsullied, piercing through their arms and necks. The Unsullied were formidable fighters, taught to endure pain, but even the mightiest of warriors could be felled by multiple arrows.

Asher then led the infantry, charging head first into the Unsullied formation. They cut down five for each soldier the Unsullied were able to kill. James's flanking attack did the rest, obliterating the Unsullied line. By the end of the battle, the Unsullied were stripped of their armour, their carcasses piled up and burnt. It was the only real funeral pyre that James could think of for slaves that had been stripped of their identity. His men he gave the funeral rituals of their homelands. As well as securing further favours from the settlements, many of the young men had been inspired to join the Phoenix's ranks. They were a growing army, and when they entered Pentos, they were bombarded with contracts from nobles looking to protect interests on the beaches and on the golden fields.

"Durad, I want you to handle equipment for the new troops, order in bulk, quality is up to you, but stay within the budget," James gave the Kossith a bag full of coins.

"I've heard of a pretty good place, I'll see to it general," Durad said.

"Alexa, we're going to need some fresh horses, sell all of the Unsullied armour we've taken, and then the horses we have with us now, then go to this place, they sell very good horses," James again gave a bag of coins to Durad.

"And myself general?" Asher asked.

"Set up camp in the Flatlands, we'll meet you there in a few days time, in the mean time see to the training of our new recruits, Durad will meet you first once he has secured the equipment and Alexa soon after with the horses," James explained.

"What will you be doing?" Durad asked.

"I'll be making arrangements of my own, you have your duties, see to it."

The trio smacked their fists against their shoulders and separated from the general. James walked across the markets of the free city, seeing nobles with their servants, whom slaves in only name. Slavery was illegal in Pentos, yet, there was still those whom organised 'indentured service', contracted and legalised slavery with terms that may be possible to meet within a few years. He also spotted street urchins, entertaining the nobles with 'magic' shows, distracting them so their friends could pick their pockets. James kept hold of his coin pouch, but not in any way that would give away how much he was carrying. He knew the pick pockets when he saw them, the con men, the brothel whores serving as distractions. James life had been filled with financial successes and failures, his brother was one to play it safe, he wasn't. For maintenance of his armour, he chose one of the least popular smiths. Walking into the store he placed the plates of armour in front of the young smith.

"I'll need some of the plates cleaned, and possible replacements if you can, if you have whetstones I'd like to see them," James said to the smith.

He was young, had just formed his store and couldn't afford to say no to customers, or take the risk of conning them. But James wanted talent, the scars on the boy's hands and arms were indications of his experience. As the boy began his work, James looked and saw the way he handled his hammer, the delicate care he took into the metal. He had talent, but was a little too cautious. Not someone he could recruit for the company. Looking over some of the whetstone's, James thought of his next move, and why he had come to Pentos in the first place.

'Aerys, your son and daughter, I know they are here,' Varys had his birds, but James was no stranger to it either.

After all, the Amell's heraldry was a bird.

* * *

Steam rose from Daenerys's bath, she always wanted them to be scalding hot. Some of the Magister's servants would recoil and keep their distance, but the heat never bothered her. Tilting her head back as she washed, she remembered the house with the red door, the lemon tree underneath her window. She remembered Willem Darry, the only man at Dragonstone who wouldn't sell her and her brother to the usurper. He'd been an old knight, and slowly he wasted away in the free cities. When he died, all of the kindness in his house was gone. The third great betrayal, as Viserys often called it. The Magister was no Ser Darry, she could feel his eyes on her whenever she walked in the garden. Darry never looked at her like that.

"Sister," Daenerys heard her brother whisper behind her.

He walked over to the bath, sitting at its edge and caressing her cheek.

"You become more beautiful every day," he said.

It was compliments like those that Daenerys held onto. She preferred her brother like this than the other way she saw him.

"Khal Drogo was a lost cause, but the Magister has another plan, the golden company," Viserys said. "A mercenary company, they have in their possession elephants, elephants, we could retake the seven kingdoms, and then use the treasury to pay off the debt," he explained.

"Will it really be that easy?" Daenerys asked.

"It is the only option we have, once we have returned to Westeros, the loyal houses will rally behind their true king and we will be able to make a suitable long term arrangement with the company," Viserys explained.

"So I will not have to marry?"

He took hold of her cheek, forcing her to look deep into his eyes.

"You know your duty," was his simple answer.

She knew it well, the Targaryen blood line began pure because Aegon married his sisters, because Rhaenys provided him with a pure blood heir. That was to be her duty, to be her brother's wife, his queen, the mother of his children. She loved her brother, her brother. When he let her go she lowered her head, and lost herself in the warmth of the water. Her brother called himself a dragon, but around him she only felt cold. After the servants dried her, she put on a blue, Pentosi styled dress and began studying her books. She only really had the stories of Westeros, stories of knights like Duncan the tall.

"Once you have secured funds your grace, the golden company will be willing to serve you," she heard Illyrio address her brother in the dining hall.

"And pray tell magister how will we secure these funds? What honour these mercenaries has extends only to those whom pay them, they will not fight for promises," Viserys explained.

"You are indeed wise your grace, a loan from the Iron bank of Bravos will allow you to pay the costs of the golden company sailing to king's landing, take the capital and then the rest of Westeros will kneel," Illyrio explained.

"Do you think I have not already tried it, six months ago I sold my mother's jewels, and when I hosted a party for the golden company commanders, they laughed at me, 'the beggar king' they called me, I am the last dragon," Viserys voice had grown angry, hysterical even.

The 'dragon' he called it, and Daenerys had no desire to face it today. She prayed the Magister would say something to appease him, else her brother take his rage out on her.

"The Iron bank would trust a veteran mercenary commander and financially successful magister your grace. If I was to secure a loan, on your behalf I would employ the golden company. Once your reign is secure, I will pay the debt back myself, my only price your grace is to continue to serve House Targaryen as your small council's master of coin."

There was a great pause, and for a moment she wondered if her brother had only been further angered by the magister's proposal.

"Once my rule is secure, those whom have been loyal to me will be rewarded, and those whom have gotten in my way, will suffer with fire and blood," he said.

That dark tone of voice, was what Daenerys always feared, especially in the night when her brother drank. Sometimes he cried and she saw a shard of the kind person her brother had once been, but more and more he became the dragon.

* * *

As James waited for his armour, he walked through the markets of the free city. Silks, fruits, he looked at the stock and smiled at the people trying to flog him their wares. Walking through the streets took him back to the days when he was just a boy and his sword. Now he was an old man and his sword. James knew of a few men he could implicitly trust, but most would be loyal for as long as he could pay them and provide them with victories. Victory was like the roll of a dice, and he liked his chances. As for matching the price of his rivals, well, the only rivals he needed to worry about was the Lannisters. They were the richest family in Westeros next to the Tyrells.

The Tyrells were ambitious, James's source told him of their hopes to one day marry into the royal family. It was unlikely though that Margaery Tyrell, for all her beauty and charm would be able to win over the heart of Robert Baratheon. And Robert, despite his infidelity, would not break up his marriage to Cersei Lannister, not with Jon Arynn counselling him. Then there was the fact that, James's source within King's landing, told him that despite Arynn's advice, the crown was in debt to the iron bank, and the Lannisters. The Lannisters, whose daughter was queen, ergo the Lannisters were losing money they wouldn't get back.

'Oh Robert, sometimes I think the only thing I have to do is sit back and watch you and the Lannisters destroy yourselves,' James thought.

He knew the game of thrones that the Westerosi prided themselves in. Back stabbing, black mail, spying, even murder and assassination. The nobility of Westeros were like the nobility of Orlais, their country would never be what it once was, because they held one another back. Everyone of them was more concerned with being at the top, rather than each lord playing their role, supporting their nation and helping it.

'Deep down inside, I have always despised that country,' James thought.

He could wait for the major families to destroy themselves. It would certainly be the smart play. But that wasn't what he wanted to do. At night he would picture it, the lion, the stag, the wolves all fighting one another, murdering each other. And then, the phoenix would rise and burn them all.

'Fire and blood, for the true knight that died during the Greyjoy rebellion,' he closed his eyes and let out a deep breath.

His grip on his sword had tightened, and he knew he had to contain himself. Long ago, he hid his intellect and rage behind a demented mind. This great deception convinced Westeros that, Fausten Amell, was no longer a threat. The lords of Westeros believed he died a mad man chasing lost glory in the free cities, only for his age and battle wounds to catch up with him. His scars had not yet broken him, as for age, that was another reason James wanted to move his plans forward. Walking through the alleyway, he flexed his fingers, there were days that they hurt sometimes.

"Old man," he heard people whisper behind him.

James straightened his back, held his head up high and smiled.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, though he knew the answer.

"That's a nice set of boots you have on, hand them over first, and the purse," the man said.

One with a spiked club in front of him, two with knives behind him.

"And that weird sword too," one of the men behind him said.

The window was the key, where the real threat came from. Desperate and starving children were not to be underestimate, they could be little monsters.

"You know I'll be turning 69 soon," James said.

"I don't fucking care old man, give us what you have," the leader began making his way over to him.

Suddenly, James drew his sword, slicing the man's neck. The children with the rocks above him were in shock, as were the two me behind him. Blood sprayed across the wall, and James took care to not get any on himself.

"Oh dear, that's a shame, I meant to take your head off," that was the Maker honest truth.

Without waiting for the other two to surrender, he killed them and looked up at the youths. They began to throw their rocks, but much to their shock, James was deflecting them with his sword, or slicing them apart.

"It is frustrating when your body no longer reacts the way it's supposed to," he said.

He'd made clear he wasn't someone to mess with. Anymore would be excessive, but truthfully he wanted to kill those men. They were younger, probably fitter than him and he needed to test himself. Often James wondered how much longer it would take, a year, six months, a few weeks, perhaps even days, it kept him up at night. He was not the warrior he once was, the man who took on the Mountain and toppled it. Once he'd been able to climb a mountain, now, he considered himself lucky to be able to walk up a set of stairs.

'Which is why we must move quicker, I want to see it, the stags and lions burn, and the dragon nestle back onto its throne,' he sheathed his sword and walked out.

The time was near, he had planned it to the letter. His sources in the Magister's household told him of how their master frequented a specific brothel in the city. This brothel had one girl whom always served the magister, she reminded him of a lost love. James slipped her a little extra for her service, just enough to keep the magister there for longer. Then he walked to the magister's home.

"James Marcher, at your service, is the master of your house in?" he asked the magister's seneschal.

"I am afraid not, you are a mercenary captain correct?" the grey haired man asked him.

"Of course Kallin, I mean 'stranger I've never met before'," James grinned.

Kallin had been an old friend from those days when he was nothing but a boy and his sword. He found Kallin two years ago, and upon discovering his service to Mopatis, immediately made him a spy. There were not many people in the free cities whom would be willing to put their lot in with the exiled Targaryens. Mopatis was just the right kind of man, ambitious enough to take a gamble, rich enough to know he would lose nothing.

"You'll have no interruptions, the kitchens are ready on your signal," Kallin said.

"Don't forget to let my men in, everything falls apart if it's not convincing," James said.

The grey haired man retreated through one of the doors, leaving James to explore the house alone. He walked to the dining area and saw as he had expected, the image of Aerys.

"Who are you?" Viserys demanded, sliding his chair back.

He nearly spilt his cup of wine, looking at James with fear.

"Viserys, brother," Daenerys called as she walked into the room.

She froze upon seeing the stranger in the Magister's home. Daenerys looked at the older man, seeing the shock in his eyes at seeing her. A warm expression crossed his face.

"You look so much like your mother," he said.

Daenerys took a few steps back, watching as the man took a seat.

"It's frightening really, it feels like I'm facing the images of old friends, your father and mother," he said.

"How do you know our parents?" Daenerys asked.

"Old friends as I said, I knew them when they were Prince Aerys and Princess Rhaella Targaryen, two people bound by the expectations cast upon them by their father, you're slightly taller than your mother though," the man stroked his chin and smiled, placing his sheathed sword on the table.

"Whoever you are, all we have to do is scream out for the guards, the Magister..."

"Forgive me Viserys, but the fat fuck is too busy fucking, unaware he's being fucked. I suppose you wouldn't recognise me, your father kept you away from court so much, he put a lot of hopes on you, perhaps more than your brother. I never saw much of your father in him, I see a lot of him in you, although you have your mother's brow," James explained.

"Who are you?" Viserys demanded.

"James Marcher, and I've come to offer you a service, my mercenary company Phoenix's wing, has been formed for the purpose of...altering the destiny of Westeros," James smirked.

"Why would you care about Westeros?" Daenerys asked.

"Because once I was known as the phoenix, and I carried out of the flames a dragon once, I called him friend. But when madness took hold of him, I could not save him," James ran his fingers over the hilt of his sword.

"You can't be him," Viserys shook his head and stood up.

"Yes Viserys, I am he," James stood up, drawing his sword.

Daenerys brought her hands to her mouth and quivered in fear. Viserys grit his teeth together, squeezing his hands into fists.

"I am Fausten Amell, and I am here to kill you both!" the man said as he raised his sword.

Next Chapter 8: A long night

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, the meeting of Fausten and the Targaryens will continue in chapter 10. Next time we carry on from Daylen's chapter and the fight for Redcliffe.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A Song of Ice and Fire

This chapter introduces, Robert Arryn, son of Lysa and Jon Arryn, presented in the show as Robin to avoid confusion with the king. Kind of like changing Asha to Yara to avoid confusion with Osha. So according to show developers and writers, we the viewers are stupid :(

I however have more faith in the intelligence of my readers :)

* * *

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 8: A long night

Night was approaching, Daylen did his final checks. The barrels of oil he found had been moved to where the dead would approach from. He had convinced the revered mother to bless some amulets for the knights left in the village. Then there was the proper steel, Owen was the black smith, the mayor Murdock told Daylen how the man had locked himself in his shop and refused to help. Having Leliana pick the lock, Daylen and Alistair were hit by the stench of booze.

"Maker's breath what is that smell, it's like someone set a brewery on fire," Leliana said.

"Somebody's been drinking," Alistair commented.

Owen was angry at first, then Daylen sat him down and spoke to him. It turned out that Owen's daughter Velanna was a maid in the castle, one of many servants still in there. The man looked pathetic when he was drunk, but he was right to be frightened. Looking at the man reminded Daylen too much of what had happened at Honnleath. He didn't want to make a promise he couldn't keep, but the militia needed good armour and weapons.

"I want a promise. Promise me that you'll look for her, that you'll bring her back to me if you can," despite Owen's slurs, there was genuine sadness in his voice.

"I promise you, we'll look for her," Daylen said.

The man promised to sober up, and was already in the process of restarting the forge when Daylen walked out. As he did, he passed Morrigan.

"Oh lovely, shall we next begin rescuing kittens from trees?" she asked, putting excitement into her voice.

"Do you know where some are?" Daylen asked.

"What?"

"Well I figured we'd get started, so what do you know?" Daylen smirked as Morrigan shook her head.

"Infuriating, must you help everyone?"

"Fences and flowers," Daylen said.

"What are you going on about?" Morrigan asked.

"My limit, I can't paint to save my life, and I don't have the organisational skills to look after flowers," Daylen stated.

Alistair and Leliana both chuckled as Morrigan shook her head.

"Still, what you're doing is a good thing," Leliana said.

"We'll have to go to the castle eventually, so really it costs nothing," Daylen said.

They next had to convince a dwarf named Dwyn, he was a fighter, he even had two Chasind warriors with him. Convincing the dwarf to fight was easy, when he gave him the promise of future riches. In truth, Daylen suspected that the Arl or Teagan would have future concerns beyond paying dwarf. Still, it would be good to gain the favour. Leaving Dwyn's house, Daylen could see the men, some too old or too young, their armour ill fitting. Some armour was still being given out, he noticed Carver putting on a chain mail shirt, then putting his yellow vest back on. He saw Marian preparing arrows with some of the other archers, Garret and Bethany preparing poultices. Aveline stood with the other recruits, having just finished putting on leather armour.

"It seems saving those people at Lothering wasn't a mistake," Daylen looked towards Leliana and Alistair.

Gone was her chantry robe, instead she was wearing a set of red and black leather armour, with thigh high boots and an armoured sleeve. Alistair held a helmet and a steel kite shield.

"There isn't a lot more we can do, fancy a drink before we face off against death?" Alistair asked.

"Isn't the kind of thing we want to face sober?"

"I think it's better to just keep each other company before the battle," Leliana said.

Daylen nodded his head, he wanted to collect a few things first though. Walking along the table with the armour on, he took a set of viridian greaves and gauntlets. Removing his top, he took a leather chest plate. Then he took a horned helmet off of the table, holding it by the horn as he walked with Alistair and Leliana to the bar. Despite the fears of impending death, the keeper was profiting, people were still drinking. The girl who served the dreams was a beautiful red head, who kept up a good smile.

"She is quite pretty isn't she?" Leliana asked, smirking when she saw Daylen's cheeks flush.

"Well, I do like red heads," Daylen grinned when Leliana blushed as well.

"Now I feel like I'm not welcome," Alistair muttered.

"This is my first time in a tavern," Daylen said, playing with the hair coming out of the back of the helmet.

"Sometimes I forget you grew up in a tower, you're not at all like other mages I've met," Leliana said.

"You've met mages?" Alistair asked.

"Well yes," Leliana shifted uncomfortably. "I mean, they do let mages out of course."

"Not often, maybe to heal some rich noble or entertain at a gala, but other than that, we don't get let out that much," Daylen said.

"That simply isn't true Daylen."

"It is Leliana, have you ever seen a circle mage heal a sick peasant child?" he asked.

Leliana was about to speak, but whatever she had to say she wouldn't say it. She just nodded her head in agreement. Alistair fidgeted, sitting between the mage and sister suddenly made him feel uncomfortable.

"You could heal a child," Leliana said.

"I can't heal anyone," Daylen said.

"Why not?"

"Do you know why my eyes are red?" Daylen asked.

When they didn't answer back, Daylen continued.

"Blood magic has a price, blood of course, but sometimes it likes to take a little more too. For me, it was the ability to use healing spells, no matter how much I study or practice, I can't use healing magic. And if that wasn't enough the magic altered how my eyes looked, I used to have the blue eyes of an Amell, that was the only thing that made people certain I was one of them, all I wanted to do was save someone, now people get uncomfortable when I look them in the eyes," he explained.

He finished his cup of ale and placed it on the bar. Before he could take his had away, the serving girl, Bella began pouring another cup. She leant across the bar, putting her face inches from Daylen's.

"You don't make me feel uncomfortable," she said. "Your eyes are red, I don't see the problem with that. When you actually look at them, I can tell what kind of person you are," she touched Daylen's with the tips of her fingers. "Kindness, that's what I can see, you are kind and brave, and much too hard on yourself. But you have the eyes of someone worth knowing."

"If this is how you get a tip, you're going the right way about it," Daylen retorted and Bella laughed.

"Our secret okay," she put her finger to her lips in a hush pose and walked away.

"It seems the red eyes work in your favour," Alistair grinned.

"Most girls wouldn't be attracted to a man with scars," Daylen said.

"Well that's putting labels on girls, but you're right, some girls probably do want that story book prince, long flowing hair, handsome face. A few women want that too, but those girls and women are idiots. Smart women, see the beauty that lies in a man's actions, in their intent. Besides, in my experience most princely looking men are monstrous," Leliana explained.

"Experience?" Daylen and Alistair raised their eyebrows.

The former sister blushed and looked at both men shaking her head as they laughed.

"No not when you put it like that, it isn't as if I've...oh my, please forget I said that," she said.

Alistair and Daylen continued to laugh, and Leliana cringed in embarrassment. When Alistair finished his drink, Daylen raised the green blade.

"You should use this in the battle ahead," he said.

"Are you sure? That boy wanted you to use it," Alistair said.

"I know, but it would be better off in the hands of someone who knows how to properly use a sword," Daylen stated, placing the weapon on Alistair's lap.

The former templar half drew the blade, analysing the runes and more importantly the edge.

"It is a good sword, but it isn't meant to be used with a shield, which is what I'm best at. The sword would be used at its best with two hands," Alistair slipped the scabbard through his belt, nodding a thank you to Daylen.

The trio stood up, Daylen's eyes drawn to an elf sitting in the corner. He was sitting alone, dressed in armoured mail, with a bow on his back.

"Hey Bella, who is that over there?" Daylen asked.

"Berwick, a traveller, keeps to himself, in fact I haven't seen him speak to anyone," Bella said.

"When did he arrive?"

"Some time before the dead started invading."

Daylen put a few coins down for drinks, grabbing two cups and taking them over to Berwick.

"Not looking for company," the elf said sharply.

"Oh don't be like that Berwick, you looked a little lonely," Daylen said.

"How do you know my name?" the elf demanded.

"It's going to be a tough night, we should finish our drinks and go to the militia, they're going to need some help," Daylen said.

"Then go and help them, I don't live here," Berwick said.

"Yeah there's a point, not a lot of travellers here, not a lot of people coming into the village in general," Daylen explained.

"Except for you," Berwick retorted.

"My group and I, we're refugees from Lothering, what about you, where have you come from?" Daylen asked.

"I don't need to tell you, look just because you're a grey warden doesn't mean you can go around harassing people," Berwick said.

He seemed brave, in control for a moment, until he saw the smirk cross Daylen's face.

"I didn't tell anyone that I was a Grey Warden, I didn't tell Murdoch, I didn't tell Lloyd or even Bella over there. Bann Teagan knows, maybe I'll go ask him who he's been talking to," Daylen began to rise, the Berwick panicked.

"Wait, please don't do that, listen, I'm just doing what I was told to do all right?"

"Make it easier for yourself and talk," Daylen said.

"Okay, okay, I was asked to watch the castle and report what I saw," Berwick began, raising his hands in some vain attempt to calm Daylen. "But then this mess started and I wasn't able to report anything, now I'm just trying to stay alive."

"I understand, who told you to watch the castle?" Daylen asked.

"A tall man, I forgot the name, what I do remember is that he worked for Arl Howe, Loghain's right hand, here he gave me an official letter," Berwick reached into his pack, removing a scroll with a broken seal on it.

"What does it say?" Alistair asked as Daylen read it.

"It says you should change your haircut that's how they track us," Daylen said and Alistair shook his head. "Instructions to watch the castle for movement from the Arl's knights, specifically he wanted Berwick here to report of two individuals matching our descriptions. Promise of payment, thanks for services on behalf of the realm ,etc, signed Arl Rendon Howe," Daylen folded the letter and put it into his bag.

"Proof that Loghain may be behind this," Alistair said.

"That is a stretch," Leliana muttered.

"She's right, an un dead army seems a stretch, getting rid of the Arl is one thing but I don't think Loghain would be willing to decimate one of Ferelden's gateways," Daylen explained.

"Anyway that's it, I just wanted to serve the crown and make a little coin on the side," Berwick said.

Daylen nodded his head, tilting the contents of the ale down his throat.

"You should join the militia, fight for the village and redeem yourself," he said.

"Fitting," Sten's voice boomed from the doorway, the giant stood there with his arms crossed.

Daylen didn't know if it was Sten, or what he said that made Berwick decide, or whether Berwick wanted to do it because he generally felt regret. Either way, Berwick said yes, and when Daylen next saw him he was marching with Dwyn and the knights to the Windmill. He walked around the chantry, checking the boarded windows. Focusing his magic, he began to create spikes of ice. Wooden stakes had been used at the front of the chantry, but the dead could always attack the sides and back of it. Upon seeing what he was doing, Garret and Bethany assisted him in creating the magic born defences. As the sun set, Daylen gathered the men with the Mayor Murdock.

"When you're defending, you use the terrain to your advantage, but considering what we have to work with, we can't let the dead pile up onto the Chantry. Don't spread out too much or they'll pick us off one at a time, when you're dealing with dead flesh it's falling apart, so they won't have the strength a living person would, on the other hand, their muscles may be weaker, but they don't have the limit of pain, they'll tear themselves apart to tear you apart," Daylen explained.

"You have any experience with reanimated corpses?" Murdock asked.

"I did some research on Necromancy, but the circle doesn't actually teach it, it's more that 'know of the dangers' kind of lesson, arrows will be useless, you have to break the body apart, completely crush the brain or behead them. Magic may have reanimated the corpse, but it's still reacting to signals sent by the brain. Fire and ice are good weaknesses to utilise, fire destroys the flesh, and ice stops the movement completely, Morrigan, concentrate on empowering the blades of the militia with fire!"

"Well I suppose if we are stuck here helping others, I may as well, considering I have no desire to die either," Morrigan said.

"Garrett, Bethany, you'll use ice, I assume you're both able to cast and arc of cold," Daylen said.

"We are," Garrett and Bethany nodded their heads.

"This is your militia Murdock, get them to spread around the Chantry, but behind the spikes and barricades!"

"Actually Warden, I think this is more your militia," Murdock said.

"I wasn't intending to overstep..." Murdock however raised his hand, ceasing Daylen's excuses.

"You're leading them much better than I can," he said.

"Indeed," Teagan said.

He was in full armour, a sword on his back.

"The militia is in good hands, where would you have me go?" the Bann asked.

"Into the chantry with a few other men, someone needs to protect the villagers, and we can't have you dying here," Daylen said.

"But my brother is the Arl, if I don't protect Redcliffe in his absence..."

"It is precisely because the Arl is unavailable that you must survive, we don't know for sure if he is alive, in the event that he hasn't survived, leadership of Redcliffe, and aiding us in restoring order to Ferelden will fall to you," Daylen explained.

Teagan grit his teeth together, hesitant, but understanding the warden's logic. As he walked to the chantry door, he looked over his shoulder at Daylen Amell. Alistair stood by his side, a student of knowledge passed down to the son's of Arls, guided in the ways of leadership by Templars and Chantry priests. And, mentored by the commander of the Ferelden Grey Wardens for leadership. Yet, he listened to and obeyed the commands of a stranger. A stranger who, when Teagan looked at him, saw a leader. His fear was not elated, but his confidence in the militia's ability to protect the chantry and the people inside it, was bolstered. Daylen checked over his pack last, ensuring he had some poultices and mana potions. Then he checked over his dagger and took a deep breath to calm himself.

"Are you all right?" Leliana asked him.

"I'll be okay, do you know why I decided on this helm Leliana?" he picked up the helmet, running his hand over the visor.

"I'm not sure about the horns and hair, but it certainly looks like it'll protect your face, you'd have to be accurate with bow or sword to slide it through that visor, and I suppose it'll conceal your face for when we journey as well," Leliana explained.

"Those are some good reasons, but it's also the style too," Daylen half chuckled and grimaced. "I mean, it looks like the head of a monster, I suppose I wear it because it looks like what I feel like," he said before he slid the helmet over his head.

He turned then to face Leliana, whom gasped, there was something quite intimidating about the helmet. Especially when, through the darkness of the visor, she saw his eyes briefly glow.

* * *

Westeros-King's landing

There was a time when it would have been Revka wishing the children a good night. She would read Tommen and Myrcella stories, and tell them of the lessons behind those stories. Aristanna however had a different approach to stories. Within the study of the royal quarters, she sat with an audience, Tommen, Myrcella, Tyrion would have normally been drinking at this time, but he was drawn to her. Jamie stood nearly away from the group, guarding them but himself paying attention to the melody of the Amells. Even Jon Arryn's son Robert was in attendance, something Aristanna was taking a great risk in bringing him into her circle. 'Sweet Robert' as his mother called him was a weak child, a few years could pass and he'd be weaker and more unstable than Joffrey. His mother coddled him more than Cersei coddled Joffrey. Even the crown prince was there, initially bored, until Aristanna got into the heat of the story.

"Twas an army of knights and farmers, criminals and vagabonds, only one lord of a land, and he did his duty to protect the people inside the shelter. For that night, the militia of the village near the cliffs was under the command of an adventurer, a mage of the grey order. His mission was to gain the support of the neighbouring lords, for a great darkness was falling upon the land. Yet, he could not turn away from the troubles of this single village."

"He didn't run away?" Tommen asked, his eyes filled with wonder.

"Of course not, for he was a hero, and no hero turns away. He had come to the village, just when the mistress of the castle on the cliff cast her eyes on the village. She was wicked and cruel, having poisoned the king of the castle and taken his wife and prince hostage. Through witchcraft she called forth the great army of bones and sent it down to destroy the village, to send a message to the neighbouring lords. The mage of the grey order and his companions organised the defence of the village and stood with the soldiers as the army of bones came down the hill, their limbs rattling as they marched," Aristanna put fear into the hearts of her audience, tapping her flute against the chair, to mimic the rattle of bones.

She stomped her feet as if marching and crouched near Robert.

"The mage of the grey order watched the army of bones march towards him and the knights, looked at the oil spread across the ground, the narrow width of the path made it the ideal trap. The front line of the army of bones passed through the oil, stepping towards the gathered knights," she told the amazed, though frightened boy.

"Why didn't he light the oil?" he asked.

"It was not the right moment, but when a quarter of the army crossed the oil pit, then he clicked his fingers. Out the flames came, like a chain across the distance between the mage and the army of bones. With a flash the oil came alight, burning through the dead standing atop it, their groans and yells of anger echoing through the air as the flames rose. The front line of the army of bones had been trapped, the mage's plan was a success. Drawing his sword, he threw it forward and the knights pulled back their shields, revealing crossbows."

"Cowards weapons, that's what father always says," Tommen said.

"I favour the crossbow," Joffrey glared at his brother.

"Honour was not a priority that night, and even in a war between men, tactics is not dishonourable. An average bow had no use against the army of bones at close range. But the power behind a crossbow could shatter bone, and that was exactly what the knights needed to cripple the first line of the army of bones. They advanced through the flames, their bodies further melting, weakening. The knights drew their swords, and with a bellow charged forth. Blades cleaved through bone and flesh, and the knights firmly stood their ground. The mage yelled as he too joined the fray, swinging sword and shield into the soldiers of the army of bones. The dwarf whom he inspired to pursue heroism fought valiantly, his keening blade crumbling the bones of his enemies.

"And with a roar, the stone soldier crashed into her enemies, her crystal armour glowing, illuminating the night. She crashed her fists into the monsters, threw and slammed them against the ground she was a living shield for the knights, and a battering ram against the army of bones. Soldiers moved through the flames, preparing to surround the knights, and the mage faced the back of the stone soldier. The gears of inspiration turned within the mind of the mage, as he saw the glow in the crystal armour of the stone soldier. Electricity crackled through his arm, and suddenly, he threw a bolt of lightning into the stone soldier.

"Her armour hummed as the electricity passed through the crystals. Then, in a great bang, bolts of lightning crackled out of the crystals, destroying the bone soldiers in front of her. The stone soldier grinned, relishing the chance to destroy her mortal enemies, there were things she hated, birds, magic and the undead. She found it ironic and amusing that magic would help her destroy the latter, the mage again hit her with lightning, and again she amplified the lightning. The knights cheered and raised their swords, inspired and driven by the light and their victory."

Aristanna bent her knees and lowered the pitch of her voice.

"But all was still not well, for to the left of the windmill, on the path to the village, a man ran up it, panting and huffing," she did just that, causing Tommen and Myrcella to laugh. "And the man screamed, 'THEY'RE IN THE VILLAGE! THEY'RE SETTING FIRES!'" and this time the children, little Robert in particular squirmed.

"What is the meaning of this?"

The children groaned as Maester Pycelle 'limped' into the room. Aristanna shook her head in disdain.

"It is past the bed time of the princes, and where is young Robert's mother?" Pycelle asked.

"Indisposed, I knew she wouldn't agree to me reading a bed time story, so I said Baelish wanted to see her," Aristanna giggled, whispering the last part to the Maester.

"Shameful," the man shook his head.

"I know, Baelish isn't even at his brothel," Aristanna said.

"That is not my point, you are shaming the woman," Pycelle said.

"She kind of does it herself, I mean feeding Robert at her breast," Aristanna made a gagging sound that Pycelle nearly imitated as well.

"Whilst I share your opinions on certain aspects of Lady Arryn's parenting, these children should be sleeping in bed by now."

"Why, do they have busy days standing pretty at court? One night isn't going to be so bad," Aristanna said and turned back to the children (much to their delight).

"I am the Grand Maester, I am an advisor of the king and knowledgeable on many aspects of child development, perhaps listening to such garbage stories enabled you to become the young girl you are now, but such things do not apply to true born noble children," Pycelle explained.

Aristanna turned to Pycelle, making the children and even adults tremble when they saw the frown on her face. Pycelle stuttered in fear as the girl grabbed the collar of his robe.

* * *

Redcliffe

Daylen showed no hesitation when the villager came to the mill. He ran down the path, not waiting for Sten, Shale or Alpha, he didn't even know if anyone was following him. Running as fast as he could, he saw some of the buildings burning. The Undead crawled and crept, some still had skin and intact clothes and Daylen could tell, these were once villagers of Redcliffe. That was why the fighters wavered, they were facing friends, perhaps even family members. Murdock crashed his mace through the bones of any undead warrior that approached him. Leliana was using an axe and dagger, cutting and slicing off heads. Alistair held a shield wall with the other warriors, bashing the undead back and stabbing them. But from behind came the Undead, dripping with water from the lake.

"HOLD THE LINE!" Aveline yelled.

She knocked off an Undead man's head with her shield and cut it across the waist with her sword. Beside her, Carver crashed his hammer through the body of a crawling dead, and bashed two warriors aside. Two men fell dead beside him and another was about to be dragged away when the undead warrior was hit by an arrow. The body came alight and the militia man picked up his axe, imbedding it in the undead warrior's head. Marian fired one arrow after another, all of them empowered by Morrigan's magic. The witch of the wilds stabbed her staff into the ground and began to grow as light surrounded her. Her jaw began to expand, her nails turning into claws and then, in a flash of light she charged towards the dead in the form of a bear.

Daylen released fire into the bank ranks of the dead attacking the chantry. Fire was released from his hand and he swept it around, burning the undead and giving the shield wall motivation to push forward, throwing their opponents into the fire. Daylen charged his dagger with fire and ran, destroying individual undead warriors, beheading, splitting them, separating their arms from their bodies. He stabbed his dagger into a crawling dead warrior, spreading the flames across its body. A woman came towards him, her maw wide, screaming as if she was still alive. Her eyes though, that light in her eyes could only be magic. Daylen didn't hesitate to cut her apart. The top half of her body fell to the floor, one arm still flailing.

It was then that Daylen got a good look at her, fair hair and skin, a face much like Kaitlyn's. Their mother, he had killed their mother.

'No,' he thought. 'I have set her free!'

A howl came from behind him and Daylen turned, just in time to block an axe strike. An undead man of considerably size hobbled on one leg, supporting the rest of his body with an axe. His other arm hung off of its socket and Daylen could see his ribs. The man was missing half of his jaw, and a half growl escaped the creature's mouth. He blocked a second strike that knocked him to the ground. Daylen rolled, barely dodging his opponent's axe. He then stabbed his dagger through the man's head. Two more undead grabbed his legs, dragging him across the floor before he froze one with ice. Then he threw the frozen warrior back with a powerful blast of force magic, turning him into a projectile against a few other undead. The other undead fell to flames and Daylen looked towards Garret. Both he and Bethany released blasts from their staffs, creating a flow of blasts, moving to a rhythm, one side of their staff they fired, then they rotated the staff, taking a step forward and releasing a blast from the other side, then spinning and slamming their staff into the ground. It looked very dramatic, and true they could created effective barrages, flurries of spells, but Daylen was more for power.

"BETHANY!" Daylen yelled, slashing apart another undead. "GIVE ME YOUR STAFF!"

As Daylen dropped his dagger, letting the blade stab into the ground, he grabbed the staff Bethany threw his way. The staff began to glow as soon as the staff touched his hands, flames glowed around Daylen's body. He held the staff in front of him, crossing his arms together, letting fire spark in the palm of his free hand. His eyes scanned the targets, Undead spread out across the village, walking towards the Chantry, walking and crawling towards houses, those whom had managed to break through the knights and come down the hill. The militia men looked towards him in shock as the flames began to change.

* * *

Westeros-King's Landing

"Blue flames," Pycelle gasped.

The Maestar sat next to little Robert, now just as engrossed in the story as the children were.

"You see children, a blue flame is hotter than an orange flame, it burns quicker, and that was what the fire around the mage of the grey order shifted too. The Militia men and the mage's companions looked at him in shock, even the wild witch was in awe, she wasn't capable of making blue flames. For the mage of the grey order was skilled in the control of all the elements, but out of them all, fire was the one he had the most control over. The flames around him gathered in front of him, forming a miniaturised sun," the children gasped in awe as Aristanna raised the candle she was holding, seemingly moving the tiny flame with her hand, a simple illusion.

"Then, with a great yell, the ball of fire blew apart, streams of fire flew through the air, seeking out the warriors of the army of bones. BOOM! BOOM!" she made Tommen and Robert flinch, "They slammed into the army of bones, into the ground beneath them and BOOM! The explosions shook the village, but when the dust settled, the members of the militia were shocked to see that not one house had been hit. Even the blasts of fire that came close to the ranks of the militia didn't hit. The mage threw the staff of new growth back to the beauty of the village of new beginnings, and picked up his sword. His mana had been drained, and he would fight as a warrior."

"What use is he without magic?" Joffrey scoffed.

"I'm inclined to agree with the prince, leave the fighting to people with the training," Tyrion said.

"Ah but that's where you're wrong, the mage was a fighter," Aristanna said.

"He had talent," Jamie said, nodding his head in understanding.

"The mage stood with the other defenders, slashing, hacking down on the army of bones. When his sword broke, he picked up a mace and brought it down on a skull. He kept on smashing until the dead truly were dead. Beside him, the brave mayor of the village fought, hope in his heart. His village would survive this night, this he swore. And the man who saved his village would live through this long night, this he swore. Just as the Mayor's heart was set, a great warrior smashed through the dullards of the army of bones, an elite boneman, he thrust his spear towards the mage of the grey order."

The children, and even the adults looked on in dread and anticipation.

* * *

Redcliffe

Daylen looked towards Murdock in shock, the man had shoved him just enough for the Undead's spear to pierce his breast instead of Daylen's. Murdock was able to hit the soldier back before falling into Daylen's arms.

"No," Daylen whispered.

"The village," Murdock said.

He gripped Daylen's hand, squeezing it tightly. The Undead in front of them were suddenly thrown back. Shale stampeded into the dead, squashing their heads under foot or breaking them apart with punches. Alpha followed, tackling the Undead, leaving them vulnerable for Sten's axe. Sten swung his axe over his head, beheading a few of the Undead at once. Daylen took off his helmet and looked at Murdock.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"My village," Murdock said.

Daylen followed the direction of Murdock's shaking hand.

"Protect it," he said, again and again, until he breathed his last breath.

Daylen looked up, towards the Inn, some of the Undead were breaking in. He raised his helmet and brought the horn down on Murdock's head, he didn't want the man coming back and threatening the people he loved. Then he stood and looked towards the inn again. He broke off into a run, slicing Undead monsters with his shield and bashing them with his helmet. A skeletal swordsman caught his elbow with the flat of his blade, then cut off the shoulder guard of Daylen's armour. Sten suddenly split the monster in half and bashed another aside with his arm. Daylen kept on running, dodging a spear thrown at him and spinning, slamming the horn of his helmet into an Undead man's face, the horn broke off, imbedded in the creature's skull, before a flaming arrow set it alight.

"BELLA! LLOYD!" Daylen yelled as he ran through the broken door.

"HELP ME!" Lloyd screamed, two Undead holding his limbs either side.

They had pulled so hard one of his arms had broken. Daylen ran forward, but he was too late, another of the Undead dragged its sword across Lloyd's belly, spreading his guts across the floor. Bella was in the corner, pushing two Undead away with a bar stool. She already had a cut on her arm and part of the skirt of her dress had been torn. Daylen tackled the Undead that had killed Lloyd, and smashed his helmet and shield into them. He picked up one's axe and imbedded it in the head of one of Bella's attackers. Bella shielded herself with the bar stool, but the other Undead attacking her was grabbed by Daylen. He yelled as he tore its top body off of its legs. Then he slammed it into the ground and stomped on its head until his boots were coated with bone and brains.

"You," Bella whispered, looking up at Daylen.

He was panting, tired from the fight. Time had become such a foreign thing to him, he didn't know how much of it had passed. Were they mid way through the night, or had only an hour passed. He was usually sharper than this, but this was war, a different test of the mind altogether. Bella gasped, hearing a growl behind Daylen. Lloyd's eyes glowed as he bounded towards Daylen. The man put all his weight into his strike, hitting Daylen across the face with his broken arm. He felt his head ring, then a sharp pain in his right eye. Blood coated it and he fell back, raising his shield to protect himself. The Undead Lloyd had broken a bottle, and had cut Daylen.

'Please not my eye, not the eye,' Daylen thought.

He couldn't tell yet if it was his eye the man had cut. His head hurt too much as well, Lloyd towered over him, only for a sword to pierce through the man's ears. Bella stood next to her former employer, her hands on the sword that freed him, rage and tears in her eyes. She pulled the sword, breaking Lloyd's head apart and brought it down on his body again and again, screaming. As much as it pained her, she clearly enjoyed it too. Bella hadn't painted a good image of Lloyd's character, though no man deserved his kind of death or being used as he had been.

'Or maybe there are men that deserve it,' Daylen thought.

Bella stopped hacking at the body and rushed to Daylen's side. She was going to touch his face when he grabbed her arm.

"Your cut, it'll need treating, and the men need my help, stay safe," he said.

He gave her a poultice and a roll of bandages, picking his helmet up off of the floor.

"It's my fault, I was stupid," he said. "Should have kept the helmet on," sliding the helmet over his head he walked out of the inn.

Daylen's hand twitched as he walked back into the fighting. A blade managed to strike his back, his armour cushioning the blow, and a spear brushed past his arm. Through the darkness of the visor, his eye glowed, then the blood across his face shined. His burnt arm twitched and black flames flashed across it. Daylen snarled and swung around, slashing an Undead with the sharp edge of his shield. Alistair ran to his side, beheading another Undead warrior. The former templar blocked a great sword strike, a pair of Undead tackling him.

"Alistair," the rage faded and Daylen looked to his friend.

He threw his hand forward, knocking the Undead back with electricity. Daylen imbedded his shield in another monster's head, the strap finally breaking as he walked in front of Alistair. He picked up the green blade and held it with both hands. Despite the pain he was in, he focused, side stepping the blows of the Undead warriors and cutting them apart with strokes of the blade. Alistair picked up a wooden shield and hammer, looking towards his fellow warden. Daylen's strikes lacked the fluidity and discipline of a trained fighter, yet there was a skill to it. He countered every strike, used every opening the Undead gave him and always went for the killing blow. His speed gradually increased, every swing of the sword made it look as if the blade was glowing.

'If he has proper training, he could be a great warrior,' Alistair thought.

Alistair went back to back with Daylen, blocking a strike that came to their right.

'But for now, he'll be my leader,' the young man crashed the hammer into an Undead fighter's head.

Daylen bent his knees, holding the sword in front of him and then raising it over his head. Alistair kept his shield in front, and his hammer raised. They both yelled as the Undead ran towards them.

* * *

Westeros-King's Landing

"The mage of the grey order and the knight fought side by side, their example an inspiration to the villagers. Together, they fought until the light rose from the sky, driving away the army of bones. In spite of what had been lost, despite all the pain the heroes of the village had endured, they cheered and raised their weapons high and the villagers emerged from the great hall, at first shielding their eyes from the light," Aristanna put her hand in front of her eyes as she spoke. "And when they looked out into their village, they saw them," she moved her hand away, her eyes filled with a wonder the listeners shared.

At this point in the story, a few of the servants of the castle had also gathered. Jon Arryn was there, smiling at his son, seeing a joy in the boy's face that he never saw when Lysa was with him. Stannis was also present, still scowling, but a part of him hoped that Aristanna could one day tell such a story to Shireen.

"The giant from the east, standing tall, no smile, no look of pride upon his face, for he had only fulfilled his purpose in fighting. The stone soldier, as resolute as the giant, she too stood. The witch, brushing her clothes and sitting on a pile of bones. The rogue priestess, her head low, hands clasped together as she prayed in thanks. The hound, whom stood close to his master, these were the heroes whom had saved the village," Aristanna explained.

"And at the centre, the two whom had fought the hardest. The knight sat on the ground, sighing in relief, finally letting go of his weapons. He leant against the back of his friend, the mage of the grey order, whom was kneeling, leaning on his sword. But the blade didn't rattle, and his body never gave way for the exhaustion that threatened to overpower him. For he set his sights to the castle, the castle of the evil mistress whom had summoned the army of bones, and he knew that his work wasn't done!"

Aristanna then clapped her hands together, shocking the listeners.

"And that is all for today children, time for bed," she said and the noble children groaned.

"Please tell us some more Aristanna," Tommen begged.

"I want to know if he takes the castle," Joffrey said.

"Does the castle have a moon door?" little Robert asked.

"What about the mage and the princess of the tavern?" Myrcella asked. "Does romance develop between them?"

"Does he give the dragon slaying sword back to the boy?" Tommen asked.

"Now, now children," Jon Arryn walked closer.

"Yes, em, it's truly time for bed now," Pycelle coughed, making his rise from the ground look like a struggle.

"Indeed," Cersei revealed herself from the doorway, smirking at the look of fear that crossed the faces of her brothers.

"Your grace, Lady Amell was simply...

"I know what she is doing, I am not Lysa Arryn," Cersei said, not caring that the hand was present. "Off to bed now children!"

She walked between Myrcella and Tommen, looking back at Aristanna and nodding to her. Jamie was one of the last to leave, mouthing a 'thank you' to the story teller. It left only Aristanna and Tyrion in the room.

"Incredible, I've not seem the three of them share an interest in something since...well ever, Joffrey almost seemed like a normal child," Tyrion said.

"Anyone can enjoy a good story, I could tell that the younger two missed Aunt Revka," Aristanna said.

"But you fill her role quite well, you'll be a fine Lady of the Meadow one day."

"I'll marry one day Lord Tyrion, whether it's a lord of status or a penniless man will be my choice. Love for my husband, my family, and the joy of these stories and my music will be what pleases me," Aristanna explained.

"I see, but this story was very different from the ones Lady Revka tells, it came from no book, so where did you come upon it? Your own imagination?" Tyrion asked.

"Sort of," Aristanna rubbed the back of her head sheepishly.

"What do you mean?"

"You'll probably think I'm mad, but that story I just told, was one I dreamed of just last night!"

Next Chapter 9: War in the Meadow

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, next time Chimeron meets some of the Amell family members.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own A song of Ice and Fire or Dragon Age

* * *

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 9: War in the Meadow

They sat at the long table in the tower of the hand, as they always did to discuss matters of importance to the seven kingdoms. Jon Arryn sat at the head of the table as the hand of the king, his voice in all matters of state. And Robert needed a voice at the moment, as he was missing from the small council, attending to a hangover. Stannis held a scowl over his brother's absence, he took his role of master of ships as seriously as all his other duties. In contrast Renly sat more relaxed, and was relaxed in his duties of master of laws. Most reigns across Westeros had granted membership of the small council to the Grand Maester and the Lord Commander of the Kings Guard. Only Pycelle was in attendance though, though Barristan had been allowed to keep his role in the Kings guard since his days serving Aerys, he had not been granted a seat at the table. Across from Pycelle was the master of whispers Varys, as always ready with a report from his 'little birds'. Finally there was master of coin, Petyr Baelish, an old friend of Lysa Arryn whom had been recommended by her father.

"Crime is down at the moment in king's landing, it seems that the new arrivals within the city have provided a few necessities to the people," Renly explained.

"A development that as master of coin I am pleased to hear of, as a business owner myself I am envious. In Fleabottom an elf businessman by the name of Rathgar has begun treating the shit from the sewers with special chemicals," Baelish explained.

"He literally sells shit?" Renly raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"Actually lord Renly, because of Rathgar's alchemical manipulations, the shit has become quite a powerful fertiliser, the state of Fleabottom has also improved," Varys stated.

"A tavern in Eel Alley has also become quite a popular place, a few of my own clientele have taken part in card games there, Diamondback, Wicked Grace, Gwent from time to time," Baelish said.

"There are rumours that in the basement of the establishment they host a fist fighting tournament," Varys added.

"Disgraceful," Pycelle commented.

"The city guard haven't caught them in the act, and if it's true, it keeps people entertained, better than beheadings apparently," Renly said.

"What is this place called?" Arryn asked.

"The Lucky Hand, a Dornishman, Orthello Sand and a Reach woman, Laura I believe her name is, they took a large loan from Dayk Amell, I believe he owns a percent of their business," Varys explained.

"The Amells," Arryn stroked his chin as he rested his elbows on the table.

"What troubles you lord hand?" Pycelle asked.

"I wish to know your opinions on the situation in the Meadow, lords in that region are marching to war with one another, what are your thoughts?" Jon asked.

"The Amells are steadily becoming a rich family, not through ownership of mines or fields, but because they have a hand in many of the new businesses being established. Whether from personal investment or loans, the Amells have gained influence as entrepreneurs, both the Meadow and the capital have benefited from this, but whose pockets are being filled the most?" Baelish smirked as the other lords looked at him.

"They are lax with their criminals, yet, crime is apparently quite low in the Meadow, the Amells get criticised for their mercy, yet they're clearly doing something right as the common people love them. As for the war, they want a single army to represent the Meadow and not the individual lords, but who gets to decide when that army mobilises?" Renly asked.

Stannis nodded his head in agreement, somewhat impressed too that Renly put some thought into the Amell's actions.

"I hold nothing against the Amells," Pycelle said, though the council members knew he was lying through his teeth. "But how many reforms should we allow them to make? How many traditions should we allow them to cast aside? How long before they decide that no lord in Westeros should have their own army? That an elf or a dwarf should have a lordship? Or Dalish should be given land ownership or free reign to move through our territories?"

"Their reforms are made with the best of intentions, this I have no doubt, and many of their reforms have been carried out in a way that does not compromise the peace, there is a limit however. I believe that for now the best course of action is to observe what Revion Amell does, he is not his grandfather, he has more restraint," Varys explained.

"We should continue to observe, and if the Amells step out of line, we should swiftly remind them as we did the Iron born," Renly said.

"The Meadow is not a place we can attack, the line will be crossed when they try to attack outside of the Meadow, that is the only time we would be able to strike at the Amells in battle," Stannis explained.

"Lord Stannis, you do not believe the fairy tales of the Meadow surely?" Pycelle asked.

"I know that the Meadow endured attacks from kings of Westeros before Aegon arrived, I know that it endured when Aegon himself tried to conquer it. I know that when Maegor the cruel attempted to force it into submission, his army lost badly, I know that during the Dance of Dragons, and the first and second Blackfyre rebellions, no side could claim those lands when they demanded support. And when the Mad king sent a force to make the Meadow submit to his rule during the rebellion, that army disappeared, with no trace. The Meadow consists of many deep caves, hills and rocky areas, it is a difficult place to assault," Stannis explained.

"The castle of nature they call it, it is no wonder it supports the largest population of elves and dwarves there, what of the situation in the Meadow Varys?" Jon asked.

"Several lords have assembled their forces, Revion Amell is going out to meet them with his personal army, he has been joined by a Dalish clan Folduin, which has long made its home in the forest of the Meadow. The Banrim family of dwarven merchants and mercenaries has also joined the Amell side, they will soon clash with the lords, Lord Amell has appointed a commoner Oliver as the acting lord of the Meadow, and Uther Bainan, leader of the Treetop as the commander of his army," Varys explained.

"Why Uther Bainan is a brute, a man disloyal to his wife, not even a knight," Pycelle said, flabbergasted.

"He did however make a name for himself serving under Oberyn Martell in wars in Essos, he was only thirteen when he fought the likes of Dothraki and Unsullied," Varys said.

"We will watch for now, and support whomever is victorious, if the Amells are truly worthy of the Meadow then they will settle matters there, if not then it will fall to another noble family," Jon explained.

"Now there are other issues besides the Meadow," Stannis said.

"Lord Stannis is correct, in the Bite and unfortunate discovery was made by the local authorities, a smuggling ring for slaves," Varys stated.

"Did the local militia dispatch them?" Renly asked.

"No, the crew of the ship was slaughtered, every last one of them, and the slaves were freed," Varys said.

"By whom?" Jon asked.

"A young man with a Direcat!"

"A what?"

"Like a domesticated shadow cat, the size of a Mabari hound," Vary elaborated. "He gave them a name, Chimeron!"

* * *

On the road to the Meadow, Chimeron felt his ears burn and grinned. His shadows he had dispatched elsewhere, and Borosi and his other companions could go somewhere else for now. He was out to prove himself today, and there was no finer way to prove yourself in Westeros than by fighting in battle. The thought of killing, of even being killed exhilarated him. But he remembered that time he feared death, that time he denied it with everything he was. So far, his fights with the petty thugs and slavers hadn't even brought him close to experiencing that feeling again.

'Hopefully this battle will allow me to find my fear again,' Chimeron thought as he prepared his armour.

Simple, reliable armour from a simple and reliable merchant was what he opted for. Forged from iron, it had no colour added to it or decoration. He opted for a chainmail skirt over his brown leggings, iron greaves and boots over his legs, a chainmail shirt with a breast plate and iron gauntlets. Whilst he had been able to buy an iron shoulder guard for his left, he had only managed to gather enough coin for a leather guard over his right shoulder. Chimeron wrapped a blue scarf around his neck armour and dusted the dirt off of his helmet. It had a visor with narrow eye slits and breathing holes. He slid his short, curved sword through his belt and checked over the long sword he had bought. The round pommel had no marking on it.

'Time to meet your family, my rival!' Chimeron held his head high, lifting his kite shield over his shoulder and walking to the battlefield.

* * *

Revion kept his body still, allowing only Selene to manipulate it. He could put his armour on himself, but it was just one more intimate part of their relationship. Love could form from even political marriages, they were not arrogant enough to believe that they were the only married couple in Westeros whom truly loved one another. But they took pride in the fact that they had married first for love. She fixed the black plates over his arms and chest, a gold version of the Amell sigil was on the breast plate. Raising his arms, she put on his gauntlets, then fixed the spiked plates onto his elbows. She put his purple coat through his arms, his own personal sigil emblazed on the back of it.

A black eagle resting on a perch, with the red of a rising sun behind it. Afterwards Selene fixed the guards onto his shoulder, and the high collar that would protect his neck from slashes. He only moved under his own power when he took her hand, linking their gloves fingers together. They held on tightly, both looking one another in the eyes. Their lips briefly caressed, but that was the limit of their passion during such a time. The Lord of the Meadow walked out of his tent, the spearmen of his silver guards linking their weapons together in a salute. Together, the lord and his wife mounted their horses, his a white one and hers brown with a blonde mane. Uther's horse had armour covering its white fur and the beast stomped its hooves angrily.

"We are with you Lord Amell!"

"For the Meadow!"

"For a better world!"

They were eager to fight, the silver guard. But they were driven not just by a commoners desire to knock nobles into the dirt, but by an almost cult like loyalty to their lord. He knew the names of most of the soldiers, knew their stories, he'd taken as much time to talk to them as he had with members of noble houses. The army marched out of the camp, and near the forest line, Revion made out the ranks of armoured Dalish fighters. At the front, riding on a wild, pink Hart was Jassin Falduin, son of the clan's keeper and leader of their warriors. The green and gold armour of the elves resembled elements of the forest they had marched from. Revion's eyes then went to the rocky areas, where the Banrim's fighters marched, all of them dressed in their dwarven make armour.

"I'm looking forward to seeing the little men in action, not many dwarves are willing to climb the steps of Treetop," Uther noted.

"There is someone ahead my love," Selene said.

The battle formation came to a halt, as Uther, Selene and Revion trotted ahead. There they met a man in knight's clothing, though he didn't have that disciplined bearing. He stood alongside a black furred, cat like creature. His voice had a refined way to it though. He drew the sword on his hip, Uther touching the hilt of his sword as the warrior drew the blade. But Uther relaxed when the young man removed his helmet and knelt, resting his hand on his sword and pushing it against the dirt.

"Lord Revion Amell of the Meadow, I have come here to fight alongside you," the man said

"I am not giving coin to mercenaries," Revion said.

"You misunderstand," the man kept his head low. "I'm not here to fight for money, I came here because I heard of a lord who decided that no one in his territory should have their own army, that matters should be settled between men alone as individuals and not armies. That an army should fight for the land it calls home, not the vendettas of a lord!"

"If that is the case, then I cannot accept another soul into this army, another soul that need not risk his life," Revion said.

"It is my soul to risk, besides, if you turn me away now I will forever be haunted by the knowledge that during such an important event I stood by and did nothing. So please, let me fight for you," the young man raised his head, revealing his blonde hair, handsome face and the blue and green eyes that marked him as different.

"What is your name?" Revion asked.

"Chimeron," the young man said.

"You are free to walk alongside us," Revion said.

* * *

Kings Road

Revka always preferred riding on a horse to the comfort of a carriage. Alongside her, trotting nervously along was Kira. The girl had managed to get into the basics of riding a horse, Revka's first lesson to her. After giving her the tour of the Amell estate near King's landing, Revka immediately left with a retina of guards for the Meadow. Riding along the king's road, they met travellers, merchants, hedge knights and Revka saw some of the wonder in Kira's eyes. She was a city girl, born in Fleabottom, more used to the fumes of shit than the smell of flowers. When they stopped in the country side, Revka caught and gutted a rabbit, cooking a meal for the guards and herself and Kira.

"One thing I wanted to end in Fleabottom is 'the brown', that disgusting pot of stew that the residents would have to eat," Revka said as she stirred the meat in her own pot.

"My friends and I used to guess what the meat would be that day," Kira said.

"I wouldn't have bothered, were you aware that sometimes they'd put parts of a person in the pot?" Revka asked and Kira froze.

Revka put some of the rabbit stew into a bowl, holding it out to Kira as she gulped in fear.

"Murders, what better way to dispose of bodies than to feed them to the desperate and hungry masses, most adults had stopped guessing what the meat was anyway," Revka explained.

"I know that the world is cruel," Kira said.

"Do you? To teach us understanding, my father was abandon myself and Damion in Dark town for periods of time, just rags on our backs, sometimes he'd keep us in different areas. Sometimes we'd go to a city, and he wouldn't be there, he'd just walk away and leave us to fend for ourselves. We saw things in Dark town, in the Slums of Starkhaven and beyond, things that make Fleabottom seem tame. One time a man tried to force himself on me, I tasted cock at the age of eleven, and blood! Because I would not be taken!"

"I don't think I could be that strong," Kira's eyes were filled with admiration of the woman.

"He beat me, until father arrived and threw a sword at my feet, 'use it before he does' he said to me, and I didn't hesitate to slide that sword through the man's neck. 'Now I'm going to teach you how to use it properly' father said to me, and so I started training alongside my brother," Revka continued, stirring the pot before giving some to the guards.

"A lady learning how to fight?" Kira asked in surprise.

"Don't be surprised, there are a great many houses that teach their women to fight, Bear Island, Ferelden, the Free Marches, Dorne, women do not have to be damsels, nor do we have to seduce or lie or cheat to rise. My father was cruel to us once, but only out of necessity, he wanted both my brother and I to learn and understand the hardships that people without coin or a famous name can experience, to understand the mindset that can lead a person to whore themselves, or to kill just for something to eat. But he wanted to show us the light too, that there were good things too, and he did, he showed us that there was more good in the world than there is bad, but the bad is still there. Most families in Westeros have some great motto, we don't really have one," Revka explained.

She ate from her own ladle, not bothered by the heat.

"I heard some nobles say that its 'Let my actions speak louder than words'," Kira said.

"That was a personal motto of my father's, and my brothers, I suppose it could be applied to our family. But that's more of a creed to live by, and a jab at the other houses," Revka grinned.

"What do you mean?" the girl asked.

"Growing Strong, a declaration of the 'growing strength' of House Tyrell, 'Winter is coming', a warning of the inevitable season and of course the Stark military if you piss them off. 'Hear me roar!'" Revka burst into laughter.

"Aren't those House Lannisters' words?" Kira asked.

"Yeah, I always preferred a Lannister always pays his debts, its more threatening and reassuring depending on the situation. But 'hear me roar' it's basically saying 'listen to me, I'm important'. That's pretty much what all the houses are saying with their 'words'. But actions, deeds, they can be a better way of judging a house, of judging a person, there is also however intent too," Revka explained.

"But how do you determine whether a person's intent is ill or good?"

"There's the most difficult part, judging whose on your side, or whose just more on their side than anyone else. I'm a realist and an optimist Kira, I hope for the best and prepare for the worst, I believe people are good, and that there are bad people and sometimes those people just need something good in their lives to give them light," Revka explained.

"Light?"

"There is light and darkness in the world, sometimes the darkness can seem overwhelmingly grand, I recognise this, I do not run away from it or deny it. In this 'game of thrones'," Revka spat before continuing, "People are willing to betray one another, to lie through their teeth, I'm prepared to lie, I'm prepared to manipulate at times. But what I am not prepared to do is throw away basic decency and kindness...I don't care what others say, whether they call me fool or plot my demise, I will not compromise who I am out of personal greed, or even to survive. Because yes there is badness in the world, but do you know something Kira?"

"What?"

"We don't have to be complete arses to one another to survive, or to be successful in this world, we don't need to rule the world or change it, sometimes the best we can get is a house, a family that we love, and one life that you've changed, one act of kindness to change someone's life for the better, and maybe that person will go on to perform a kindness for another, it's a butterfly effect Kira, we save the world by saving one life," Revka explained.

Kira nodded her head, drawn to the woman's words and to the strength she portrayed.

"'Whomever saves one life, saves the world entire', I can't recall exactly where I heard the words, but I like to think I try to live by them when I can," Revka said.

She thought of the one life her family saved, and the hope that that life would go onto change others. And even if he hadn't, he had been Revka's world for the brief time she was able to care for him.

* * *

Chimeron walked alongside the ranks of the army, and he was impressed with the set up. He expected his rival's family to possess intelligence, he didn't believe in singular family members displaying qualities. Tywin was not the most intelligent member of his family, just as Jamie Lannister was not the only skilled swordsman of the Kings guard. At least that was his hope, he didn't want to get his expectations high. Revion didn't disappoint, his air, aura, or Chimeron's instinct (he sometimes had difficulty knowing where he got his judgements from) cast the shadow of a man who held onto his ideals, yet wasn't stupid about it. Power was a necessity, might did make right, but one didn't need to be an evil bastard to be right or powerful. As much as Chimeron enjoyed the fear of the men he killed, he despised how weak they had been. He despised himself for killing a weak opponent.

Through the eyes of his visor he saw the army opposing Revion. Whilst it initially may have out numbered Revion's, with the addition of the Dalish and the dwarves, Revion's forces out numbered the rebels. Already Revion established intelligence by increasing the number of his forces. The sight of a superior force alone could inspire fear, in both enemy soldiers and commanders. The commoners that filled the ranks of the rebel army may not know how to count, but they weren't stupid, their eyes could still see when something was bigger. Chimeron himself had struggled to read, his eyes sometimes couldn't make out the shapes. He did however teach himself to discern certain characters from text or equations. The army came to a halt and Revion rode with his wife and Uther towards another group of riders.

Luther Darkwynd was a warrior, and he had an appearance to match, eyes that held no nonsense, a scar on his chin. His black armour was shaped at the breast plate to resemble an eye, a sword devoid of decorations or jewels rested at his hip, a sign he was not someone whom wasted gold or money on mere decoration. Unlike his fellow lords, he had no guards behind him, signifying a confidence in his own martial skill. Tiberius Sunflare was fat, barely fitting into his armour, his beard was elaborate, to a ridiculous degree, the tips of his moustache stretching past his ears and the scruff on his chin running to his belly. His guards were adorned in armour that had the sun on the coat of arms, their tall helmets having ornaments that resembled the sunburst symbol of the chantry too much for Chimeron's liking. Richard Greenward had his personal guards, and his sons in attendance. Both red haired, dressed in black plates over blue garbs. One though was old enough to have a beard.

"Honourable father," Revion bowed his head in respect.

"You made bargains with the Dalish and the dwarves?" Richard asked.

"Who do you think makes the armour for the army?" Selene retorted.

"Sister, why are you on the battlefield? Why stand alongside a man whom insults us?" asked Richard's eldest, Godfrey.

"I do not intend to insult my good honourable father nor my brothers, but this is a reform that must be made so that the Meadow can truly be united, and clear of any threat to itself from within," Revion explained.

"You speak nonsense," Tiberius spat, nearly falling off of his horse.

"Continue Revion, what is your intention here?" Luther asked.

"Aye, I too wish to hear this," Richard said.

"Every lord in Westeros has bannermen, or lords beneath them whom command their own armies. History texts have not forgotten the days when lords warred with one another for their titles, kings would be deposed, and even beyond the conquest of the dragons, lords still murdered each other through their armies. The Raynes of Castamere being one of them, then the Iron island rebellion. Neither were successful, both were tragedies because those regions were not truly united, and the people suffered because of that," Revion explained.

"It is our hope father, honourable lords, that by disbanding the armies of the lords of the Meadow, and creating one unified army, that we can then introduce a charter that will directly state when and under what circumstances assembling such an army will be justified," Selene stated, much to Tiberius's disgust.

"Who is this girl that she would speak amongst us?" he demanded.

"She is my daughter," Richard said, glaring at Tiberius.

"She is my strength," Revion said, and Selene blushed.

"By why give such power to one man?" Luther asked.

"Because it will not be in the power of one man, it will be left to a council that will be formed through this charter. And I wish for all of you to be a part of that council, matters of honour and insult will be settled through this council, as well as under what circumstances the army would be deployed," Revion explained.

Luther and Richard both nodded their heads in understanding.

"Successors of the council will be left in the hands of those whom sit on it, given to worthy students or retainers, or passed down to family members, the decision is yours," Selene said.

"You truly have thought this through haven't you boy?" Luther asked.

"I have lord Darkwynd, your men have defended the Meadow since the days the kings of old tried to take it, yours is one of the oldest houses, continue to help us defend the meadow from threats beyond and within," Revion implored the man, but he did not beg.

"I have no desire to witness a massacre today, even if we were to overcome yours, it will come at terrible price," Richard looked towards his daughter as he spoke.

"I stand here now to deliver terms, not to fight, for I will not fight against my brothers. If it comes to blows, the I will ride to that hill and await the victor, and be prepared to shed tears and mourn for whomever does not ride to me...and..." she lowered her head as she spoke. "Should neither of the men I love and hold dear come back to me, then the line of Greenward will end with me, for I have no desire to face this world without my family with me!"

The younger Greenwards gasped in shock, the youngest, James's face had horror across it and tears welling in his eyes. Selene composed herself, displaying the strength that Richard expected from his daughter before the Lady of the Meadow.

"If our armies clash today, no one will win, not truly," Revion said.

"Yet still, we have our pride, we came here today to show you that we will not let go of one piece of power without gaining another. And you have come here to offer us that power," Richard said and bowed his head.

"I've fought many battles, both within the Meadow and beyond, I knew the days of the dragons were numbered when Rhaegar took Lyanna Stark. But I fought the stag all the same, and when he took the crown I bowed, because he was the only king left on the throne. But my true loyalty, my first loyalty is to the Meadow, its people and the pride they carry. Tell me Revion, is this charter of yours a ruse, do you really hold all of the power behind the army?" Luther demanded.

"I do not intend to play this game of thrones that the other nobles believe in, we of the Meadow have always remained above such things have we not?" Revion asked, looking at each of the men gathered. "What I intend to do is spread an echo, if the other nobles hear of what we come to agree on today, then we will begin a change, a great change that will spread across the seven kingdoms. This change, will, I hope, finally bring an end to the game of thrones that keeps our nation from being great," he explained.

"Except there are some of us who do not wish for the game to end Lord Revion," Tiberius scoffed.

"And I am not fully convinced that you are truly doing this for the best interests of the Meadow, but out of your personal ambition, whilst true it is an ambition born of the best of intentions, even the best of intentions can pave way to the worst of tragedies," Luther explained.

"So neither of you will be sated, you will let this come to blows today?" Selene asked.

"Perhaps my lords, I might offer a compromise today," Uther raised his hand sheepishly, grinning as the men looked towards him. "Matters of honour have been settled through conflict before, but not always armies, why not how do they say it 'let the gods decide', cause apparently that's how people fighting to the death works," he rolled his eyes as he spoke.

"I do have reason to fight the Amells, Revion, your brother fucked my daughter, depriving me of a valuable alliance with the Freys. As opposed to parting with a daughter, I had to part with precious gem stones to pay the toll of the twins," Tiberius explained.

"To be fair mate that's your mistake for dealing with the Freys in the first place...and, why don't people just go around the Twins, it's not like the river is that long, sure it's a long walk but I'd rather have a delayed journey than deal with that cunt Walter Frey," Uther explained.

"Walder Frey," Revion corrected him.

"He dishonoured my daughter, my house, humiliated us and I demand retribution. I will not bow to the demands of someone whom wishes to take my family's well earned authority," Tiberius said, his face red with rage.

"So you'd lead your men to slaughter instead, fine if this is to come to bloodshed then let us settle the matter Lord Sunflare, a duel, fought between myself and you," Revion suggested, only for Tiberius to scoff.

"I am no fool, I will not fight, nor will my champion fight you," Tiberius declared.

"As the appointed commander of the army, I can pick a champion to fight for us," Uther said.

"I refuse to have another man lay down his life for a matter that is mine to solve," Revion said.

"Not your choice I'm afraid," Uther grinned.

"Whomever wins will be victorious in this battle, and this matter will be settled," Richard said.

Both sides galloped back to their armies. Cheers ran throughout the Sunflare forces as a man walked through the crowds. He wore a yellow coat of arms over his breast plate and chain mail, plates of metal over his legs. A strap stretched over his chest, holding in place a shoulder guard bigger than the one of his left shoulder. The round shield he carried had a green field heraldry, with a star lit sky above it. Strapped to his waist was a long sword, but he carried an axe on his shoulder. His helmet covered his entire face. similar to a templar's helmet, with two eye slits and multiple holes underneath them. That man mounted a horse given to him and rode out to the middle of the field. It was half way back to their ranks when Revion met Chimeron.

"What are you doing?" the young man was dragging his shield behind him, holding his helmet over his shoulder.

"Well it looked like you had agreed on a duel, so I thought I'd volunteer myself as a champion," Chimeron said.

"I would have no man risk their life for me, especially not a man not even from the Meadow," Revion said.

"My love," Selene trotted close to her husband, leaning towards him. "Despite his armour, this man seems capable, and he is eager to prove himself, besides, Tiberius's champion is not even of the Meadow either," she said.

"Look lord Revion, I stood with those men there and I'll be honest with you, they'll kill those guys down there, anyone of them is willing to die for you. I admire that loyalty, but there's a good chance they'll get themselves killed too. You don't want to lose any of your soldiers, and you don't want to kill anyone on that side, so let me end this, I'll make my opponent yield, blood won't be spilled today," Chimeron explained.

"That's a bold claim to make my friend, but if you think you can beat the hedge knight over there, then be my guest," Uther chuckled.

Chimeron nodded his head and continued walking past the lord of the Meadow.

"Chimeron," he looked over his shoulder, Revion was looking at the sky despite calling out to him. "Make him yield, do not kill him," he said

As Revion and his party rode away, Chimeron chuckled and continued his walk. He approached the knight as he got off of his horse, taking his axe off of his saddle and pointing to a spot away from the creature. The man removed his helmet, revealing someone in his late thirties, an old battle scar on his cheek and a broken nose, his hair and beard cut short.

"I am sir Raynar, I do not recognise you sir," the man said.

"Oh I'm no knight," Chimeron said and his opponent frowned.

"Then you do not belong on this ground, nor will you last against me," Raynar said.

"Well that's arrogant of you, discourteous too, I've just walked all the way over here!"

"Return to your lord, I will not have your blood on my hands."

"Nope, I think I'd rather beat you so that the men behind us can go home," Chimeron said, shrugging his shoulders.

He put on his helmet, pulling down the visor. Then he tightened the strap of his shield and drew his sword. Raynar glared at him before adjusting the strap of his shield and putting on his helmet. He moved his hand down the handle of his axe until it was at the end of it. Raising both his arms, he held his shield in front of him and raised the axe high behind him. Chimeron shuffled his feet for a bracing position, holding his shield level with his mouth, and raising his sword, placing the flat end on the top of the shield. Both took deep breaths, circling one another. Raynar lowered his axe, turning his hips and keeping his shield extended. Chimeron pushed his shield out and lowered the position of his sword. The soldiers on both sides watched in anticipation, Revion's hands shaking. Selene reached over and grabbed her husband's hand, smiling reassuringly at him. Chimeron raised his sword, the blade pointing past his head and towards Raynar, whom did the same thing with his axe. Suddenly, they both struck.

_(Seven Deadly Sins OST-Dragon Sin)_

They crashed their shields together, neither forcing the other back. Raynar tried to swing his axe down on Chimeron, but the young man gave him no room to move his arm. He pulled his shield back, parrying Raynar's strike with his sword and then countering. Raynar blocked with his shield and swung his axe again, Chimeron tilted his head back and shoved Raynar back. The hedge knight swung his axe upwards, catching Chimeron's shield. He felt his arm shake, the knight was strong, and when he was pushed back he felt his heart rate quicken. Chimeron adjusted his footing and then paced a few steps around Raynar. Raynar was clearly a man who lost more tourneys than he won, that didn't mean he didn't have skill. Melees and jousts weren't always a reflection of a knight's skill. Raynar ran forward and carried out an assault, hitting Chimeron's shield several times, making his feet slide back across the grass. Chimeron thrust his sword and was barely able to move his arm back in time. As he moved his arm back, Raynar swung his axe for his face. The blade dragged across Chimeron's visor, he had moved his head back at the last possible moment. Chimeron attempted to slash his opponent, but Raynar caught his sword on the curve on his axe.

'Damn, good move,' Chimeron thought.

He was jerked to the side, Raynar's axe was locked with his sword. They tugged at their weapons, Raynar adjusting the angle he held his weapon whilst Chimeron did the same. Both men grinded their weapons together. Chimeron swung his shield towards Raynar, only for Raynar to deflect the blow with his shield. He then grabbed the side of Chimeron's shield and swung him around, once, lifting one foot off of the floor and then again, this time lifting both of his feet off of the floor. Chimeron felt the man launch him off of the ground, throwing him onto his back. Raynar threw his axe aside and drew his sword, stepping towards his downed opponent.

"Yield," he said.

"You first," Chimeron retorted.

Raynar thrust his sword at the ground, and Chimeron moved his head to the side, barely dodging the lunge. Again the blade had dragged across his helmet. Chimeron brought his arm up, using his gauntlet to deflect Raynar's thrust. Then he kicked out at Raynar, only for the man to grab his foot and drag him across the dirt. It elicited several laughs from Tiberius's crowd, some from Revion's army even laughed, though most either held their breath or gasped outright.

'This is it,' Chimeron thought as Raynar raised his sword for a thrust towards his neck. 'The feeling I was looking for!

He drew his dagger, using it to redirect Raynar's sword. Pulling his leg free, he threw his dagger at Raynar's helmet. With a clang it bounced off, but it served its purpose in dazing him.

'The feeling of facing someone stronger than me, of facing the possibility of death,' Chimeron tackled Raynar, wrapping his arms around the man's waist.

Raynar slammed the pommel of his sword into his back, twice, then three more times, kicking at his feet. But Chimeron adjusted his footing, keeping a tight grip on Raynar. He lifted Raynar off of the ground, his legs dangling off of the floor. The soldiers on both sides gasped in shock.

'The feeling of fighting for my life, against a stronger opponent, and winning!' with determination Chimeron slammed his enemy into the ground.

He slammed Raynar down with such force that Raynar let go of his sword. When Raynar tried to reach for it, Chimeron stepped on his stomach, drew his sword and held the curved blade to his throat.

"Yield," Chimeron commanded.

"No," Raynar seethed.

"Yield or I take your head, and that would be a waste of a good fighter," Chimeron said.

"I refuse, not to a mere cut throat, I will not cast aside my pride like that," Raynar snarled.

Chimeron smirked moving off of Raynar and resting his sword in his hands.

"I can respect those whom hold on to their pride," Chimeron said.

And it was a genuine statement. Images of his fight with his rival surfaced in his mind. His battle with Raynar wasn't quite a reliving of that glorious moment, but it had made him feel more alive than the slaughter he had carried out on the way to the Meadow.

"Fine then," he knelt. "If your pride cannot allow you to lose to a man whose not even a knight, then make me one, and if you deny my skill, then I suppose blood will be shed today after all," Chimeron shrugged, offering Raynar the sword.

Raynar stood, looking at the blade in shock. It was a sentiment shared by all the soldiers watching. Tiberius reacted in shock for a moment before he grinned, believing Chimeron to be a fool whom had thrown his life away. Revion thought that too, but Uther, Luther, Richard, other men whom had been raised in conflict regarded it in a very different way. Raynar himself regarded it the same way.

'Such courage,' he took the blade, holding it to Chimeron's head for a moment.

"What is your name?" Raynar asked.

"A few people call me Chimeron, though I go by Leo too," he said.

Raynar raised the sword, keeping it level with his nose. He closed his eyes, squeezing the sword tightly before swinging it down. Selene and Revion gasped, the latter closing his eyes for a moment before his wife gripped his shoulder. He looked towards the two men, and saw Raynar tapping the flat of the blade to Chimeron's right shoulder.

_(Game of Thrones OST-A knight of the seven kingdoms)_

"In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave." He moved the sword to the young man's left shoulder, "in the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and the innocent. In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women," with each sentence, the knight tapped a different shoulder and when he had finished he stepped back. "Now rise, Ser Leo Chimeron, a knight of the seven kingdoms!"

Chimeron's smile hid his true intent. Part of his plan always involved winning favour as a knight, this unexpected development with the Meadow had enabled him to speed that part along. But as he stood, and Raynar raised his hand up, proclaiming him the champion, a feeling washed over him. It was that same feeling of achievement he felt when he had saved those people from the slavers. The ground shook as both sides cheered, cheered for the rising of a new knight.

'A knight of the seven kingdoms,' he thought, overcome by the joy.

He looked at the sky and chuckled as he closed his eyes, savouring the feeling of accomplishment. Unexpectedly, it had felt better than any slaughter he had committed, or any fight he had had.

Next Chapter 10: Death of the Targaryens

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, Chimeron's armour is basically the starter set for the Knight class in Dark Souls 3.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A Song of Ice and Fire

* * *

Game of Dragons

After the Iron born rebellion

Fausten rode one of his horses to the hill, just on the border of the Meadow, where the tree, their tree stood. He climbed off the horse, and lowered his hood when he was underneath the withering branches. Yet still the tree stood, it wasn't ready to topple yet, the bark was breaking, leaking sap. Insects crawled out of it, and birds never made their nests there. It was a crumbling relic, and perhaps lingered because one more part of that age still remained. Despite the protests of King Robert, Aerys was given a place in the crypts of the Sept of Baelor, he was a king after all despite his madness. Arryn had been wise to convince Robert to honour that tradition, it would give Fausten one more excuse to hate the man. He respected certain things about him, and it took a lot for Fausten to show his contempt for a person. Even if you didn't like someone, you could still treat them with respect.

'The problem with respect is that some people think it must be earned, like some sort of currency, must respect be more than simply treating someone courteously, and with compassion sometimes? No, it is trust, and loyalty that must be earned!'

"You had my respect Aerys, but not my trust, even though I knew I had yours," Fausten said as he sat, holding the bottle of wine between his legs.

This was the only tribute that Fausten could actively visit. It would look too suspicious for the lord of the Meadow, or some hooded hermit to visit the tomb of kings. Fausten was confident that he had Robert's respect and admiration, but he wasn't going to take certain risks, not with the birds of Varys lingering. No birds nested at this old tree after all. It wasn't just a tribute to Aerys and the times they had spent there, but to Elia Martell and her children Rhaenys and Aegon. Rhaenys, a innocent girl whom Fausten dreamed one of his grand children would marry, stabbed to death by a thug. Aegon, a babe with so much ahead of him, incapable of making a word or negative thought against anyone, smashed against a wall by a monster. And that same monster raped poor Elia, caked in the blood of her own children, before crushing her skull.

"It felt good, really, really, really good when I killed him. I don't enjoy killing, but killing the right people, that I do enjoy and Gregor Clegane was not doubt the right kind of person to kill. I enjoyed knocking his head off, enjoyed burning his fucking heart out. Death by the blade, and by fire, somewhat ironic considering what he did to his brother, Sandor's apparently quite a good lord too...who knew?" Fausten shrugged.

"As for the other guy, Amory Loch, well I hope the Martells gave him a punishment fitting the twenty stab wounds he gave Rhaenys. Still, beating the shit out of him, stuffing him into that box, listening to him try to claw his way out, listening to him beg, cry and scream for mercy, hearing him vomit and shit...I enjoyed putting the bastard through that pain. That makes me a madman doesn't it, or does it? I can't be a hero anymore, but can I be good? Oh Aerys!"

Fausten pulled his head back, tears welling in his eyes.

"I built a home in the Meadow, built a home for my grand children but, one is so far away. It is foolish of me to hope that he can join us. Yet still, I built a home for my family, for my daughter and her children, for the friends I made. He journeyed across sands and free cities, saving many, but my son, my boy, the greatest gift my wife ever gave me is dead. He did what I could not, he became a hero, and they killed him for it," he said.

"Baratheon men, Lannister men, Stark men, they killed him, and Stannis, Tywin, Robert, they treated him like a criminal, as if he had committed some great dishonour. I fought with them, and it felt good, good to work with Tywin on tactics, to fight alongside Robert on the fields. If we work together, I know we can make this country a better place. Yet...Tywin, I cannot cast aside my animosity with the man and for what he had his monsters do to Elia's children. And Robert...he's gotten fat, he lays with other women, and deludes himself into thinking that Lyanna Stark would have loved him, the truth is, before the crown he was always a lustful, lecherous pig, he would have gotten fatter in time if he did marry Lyanna. He smiled when the bodies of children were laid at his feet, oh Aerys, keeping my disgust of him contained was one of the hardest things I've ever done."

"And Stark..." he whispered, gritting his teeth together. "He knows what his friend is, he knows, and he's locked himself away from it all. Your grandson Aerys, he's letting the boy live as a bastard, with all the hatred that bastards are treated with. A prince, yet the greatest aspiration he will have, his inevitable fate will be to join the FUCKING NIGHTS WATCH!"

He ran his hand over the tree and sighed.

"Every night I dream of what could have been, if only I had made different choices, I told myself that I wouldn't play the game, that I wouldn't even entertain the power grubbing deceptions of the nobility, that I would be better. But I'm not better, I am a hypocrite Aerys, my son is dead because of them, because this is the world they created."

He stood, eyes blood shot from the tears.

"It is not the Amell way to seek revenge, what we should seek is absolution," he squeezed his hand into a fist, drawing blood from his hand. "But I will take revenge!"

* * *

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 10: Death of the dragons

It was a simple swish of the sword, and Viserys closed his eyes for a moment. But when he opened them, Fausten Amell stood in front of him, holding the sword loosely by the blade, offering the hilt to him. Fausten moved his hands away as Viserys took hold of the sword with both hands. It felt light, lighter than any Westerosi or Essos forged blade. Viserys eyed the man cautiously as he sat at the table again, removing a skin of wine from his coat.

"Dornish red, a gift from Oberyn Martell, though not my favourite," Fausten took a swig before throwing it to Daenerys. "It's not poisoned, not my way!"

"You said you were here to kill us, yet why haven't you done it yet, and why give me your sword?" Viserys demanded.

"I'm in no hurry, the girl giving the Magister (Tevinter would be insulted) the time of his life will keep him occupied for a very long time. As for the sword, your hands are shaking, you have extremely thin arms, in short you're weak prince and I'm a veteran of many battles, even at my age I could kill you with my bare hands," Fausten explained.

"And will you, kill us with your bare hands, as your allies killed our nieces and nephews?" Daenerys asked, and even Viserys was surprised by the courage in her voice.

"I did not want that for the children, they were innocents and I grieved for them," Fausten said.

"As you grieved for our father?" Viserys asked.

Fausten nodded his head and rubbed his eyes.

"Your father was dead, at least in my mind when he burnt a man alive, thus triggering a war that consumed his country. That monster that sat on the throne was not him, I grieved for your father long before Jamie Lannister drove his sword through that creature's back," Fausten explained.

"The Starks defied the dragon," Viserys snarled.

"Imprisoning Brandon Stark would have been enough, demanding an apology from his father for his zealous son's breach of etiquette would have been enough, and having Rhaegar explain his actions would have been enough, I doubt the wolves would have sided with the stag once Lyanna explained to them just how much he disgusted her, instead, the dragon burned a man alive and choked another to death. The realm suffered!"

"And the realm still suffers," Daenerys said.

"Is that what Mopatis is telling you?" Fausten asked. "Let me guess, he tells you that the lords of Westeros plot the return of the dragons, that their wives secretly knit Targaryen banners, that the people are crying out for the usurper to be cast out from the iron throne and the rightful kings and queens of Westeros to be returned to it? Well that's good to get you to trust him, to offer him a seat at the table, to get you to drop your guard, but here is the reality you two.

"The lords and ladies of Westeros plot, against each other, they won't openly defy the king, only the Greyjoys were stupid enough to rebel and they failed, badly. And the people, the Targaryens are just another set of nobles to them, nobles who are going to make them build their monuments and fight their wars, they are in no rush to see you come back and challenge a king whom though is lecherous and lazy, has no desire to burn the cities they live in.

"As for Mopatis well, he has his own agenda just like every other lord of Westeros. If you were to comeback, the Tyrells would kneel in a heartbeat and steadily leech their way into your good graces, that is if you have a stronger army. The Martells would probably join you, they hate the Lannisters and the Baratheons enough certainly, Arryn would fight for the crown, the Baratheon crown, but in the event he dies the lords of the Vale will lock themselves in the Eyrie and wait the war out. The Lannisters would fight, or try to find some way to trick you or appease you, because Tywin Lannister is willing to do whatever it takes to protect his legacy, and he's not stupid enough to think you'll forgive him for all he's done.

"Of course the Baratheons will fight, Robert hates the dragons with a passion and Stannis will fight for his brother, Renly might be appeased, possibly, but he knows that if Robert falls he could always rally the Stormlands and possibly the Crownlands as the next king. Then there are the iron islands, and we left them shadows of their former selves, they can't fight anymore and I doubt the honourable lord Greyjoy will try to get involved with how bitter he is. And finally the Starks and the North, Eddard Stark will fight for his friend, and to keep the North safe. If Robert loses, he won't waste time on revenge, he'll slip into the North and the North itself will fight an invading army, they're better suited for defence in their environment anyway. But all of this is dependent only on your ability to win an army, which you lack Viserys, I can see the bitterness in your eyes, and selling your sister as a wife will only make you a pawn to whichever warlord she picks," Fausten explained.

The dose of reality was heavy for the two Targaryens. And for a moment, Viserys's anger faded and he looked like a child being lectured by his teacher. But he soon tightened his grip on the sword, pointing it at Fausten.

"What would you have us do then?" he asked.

"Personally I'd do away with all of it, nobles, kings, thrones," Fausten stood and Viserys backed away.

The Amell stretched his neck and huffed. Then he took a step towards the Targaryens.

* * *

King's Landing-Three days after

The King's council had been called, and finally, the king was present, sober and at attention. Robert though sat patiently beside Arryn, as the other council members arrived and took their seats.

"Varys had reason to call this meeting your grace, there are matters we must discuss concerning the Meadow, but first and foremost, Varys received news regarding the Targaryens, Viserys and his sister Daenerys," Jon explained.

"Yes, yes, get to it, tell us spider, where are they?" Robert demanded.

"My birds reported to me that they recently came under the care of a former sell sword turned Magister of Pentos, Illyrio Mopatis," Varys said.

"I've heard of him, apparently his fortune and reputation was owed purely to him marrying a cousin of the prince of Pentos," Baelish said.

"Mopatis probably has some influence, enough to use Viserys's name for his ambitions," Renly suggested.

"This conjecture gets us nowhere, what news from Pentos?" Stannis asked.

Varys paused for a moment, looking at each of the lords before he spoke.

"Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen are dead!"

* * *

High Garden

Dayk awoke to the smell of roses. And as he regained consciousness, he felt Margaery's fingers rub his chest. She crawled through the covers, pushing Dayk's arm onto the bed and pinning him there, her hair dangling over his face as she smirked.

"I saw you eying my cousins and hand maidens last night," she said.

"And did it make you jealous?" Dayk asked, smirking back.

"Hardly, although," she released his arms and drew circles over his chest, putting a pleading tone into her voice. "I could tell my father the truth, that I am another victim of Dayk Amell's lust, he wooed me with his poetic words and handsome body father, oh the shame I have brought our family," she tilted her head back, wiping fake tears from her eyes. "But all the time he has been seducing other women within our own home!"

"I'm not seducing other women, I'm observing them," Dayk said.

"Oh, is that what it's called now?" Margaery asked.

"If you really must know, I'm looking for a wife," Dayk said.

"Dayk Amell settling down, that would be a thing to see," the Tyrell heiress chuckled.

"Well, I am looking at a prospect now, but she sets her standards higher...a man like me couldn't possibly hope to make a woman like her happy."

"Oh Dayk," Margaery placed her hands on Dayk's chest again. "Happiness isn't enough, in our world, we can't afford to marry for love!"

"Yeah, I had that idea too, a man like me, a better person than her whom believes in ambition before love!" Dayk said, his eyes taking on a cold expression.

Margaery looked at the younger Amell for a moment before throwing her hand at him. He caught it, rolling over on the bed and pinning her arms against it.

"You say such horrid things some times," she spat.

"And you're not nearly as good as you try to convince everyone you are," he retorted.

"Yet still you love me!"

He leant his head down and she opened her mouth, their lips and tongues joining in a passionate kiss. Margaery freed her arms, throwing them around Dayk's neck as he ran his hands over her body. Suddenly, a knock came from the door and they separated.

"Margaery," Olenna's voice came through the door and Dayk quickly rolled out of bed.

"Just a moment grandmother," Margaery said.

She quickly put on her night dress, straightening out the creases that Dayk had made on her bed. There was a clicking of the lock, and the door opened, Margaery quickly turning to her grandmother. Olenna Redwyne Tyrell, queen of thorns. Well into her sixties, she had the appearance of an old woman whom hadn't aged well, having very little teeth, gaunt, thin fingers and walking with her cane. Though she didn't need it, there were times Margaery doubted Olenna needed to be flanked by her bodyguards, bulking identical twins Erryk and Arryk, Olenna always called them left and right.

"Here you are, your idiot father was wondering what you were doing, he and Luthor have already demolished most of breakfast," Olenna said, walking into the room and gradually straightening her back.

An act, always put on an act, never show your strength was Olenna's advice to Margaery. She took to the lessons well, both in courtly etiquette and in how to become the ideal woman for a man. Still, Margaery had her pride, and she would not give up the things she loved.

"Tell grandfather and father that I will be down shortly, I haven't long woken up grandmother," she said.

Olenna used her cane to shut the door behind them, leaving Erryk and Arryk behind. She prodded the bed with her cane and looked to Margaery.

"Do be a dear and move your bed for me girl, you know how my hips are," Olenna said.

"Grandmother?" Margaery looked at her in confusion.

"Oh you know I'm not foolish, now come, move it girl, or perhaps you'd be better off just crawling out from your hiding place Dayk Amell," Olenna smirked.

Margaery knelt by the bed, lifting the cover aside to reveal underneath it. Olenna took a few steps back and raised her eyebrows in confusion that mirrored Margaery's. Nothing, no body, not even small clothes.

"Oh boy, you are good," Olenna muttered.

"Dayk Amell was not here grandmother," Margaery said.

"Don't lie girl, I'm the one who taught you after all. Now come, sit, this isn't something I'd have you discuss with your father, and certainly not your mother," Olenna sat at the table furthest from the bed, before placing her hands on it though she looked from it, to Margaery.

"You didn't..." her voice drifted and Margaery rolled her eyes.

"I'm not confirming or denying anything mother," she said.

"Then you really haven't learned girl, you deny, deny with every fibre of your being, most noble men are fickle, the most powerful want the purest of women, virgins girl and sometimes they can tell. Dayk is the second son of an upstart family with a slab of land no one wanted. Now perhaps he does love you, but love can only get you so far," Olenna explained.

"But you married grandfather for love didn't you?" Margaery asked, taking a seat at the table.

"Love grew between us, he is a fat oaf your grandfather, but he's my fat oaf, can you say the same for Dayk Amell. Well, take the fat and oaf away, but can you really say he is yours?" Olenna asked.

"I, I do, enjoy his company and he is a good lover, who respects me but matches me too, he is not dismissive of me and he even challenges me," Margaery explained.

"It sounds to me girl like you have found an equal, someone you would have quite a happy marriage with. We have a good life here you know, it wouldn't be my first instinct to seek out that chair and city of shit. I was betrothed to a Targaryen, but I picked your grandfather and when I was done with him he picked me too. Your father and Renly scheme, but they are your tools in this aren't they girl?" Olenna smirked as Margaery graciously lowered her head. "A crown, a queen, you'd certainly have the capability of ruling even with a king beside you, a whisper in the ear during court and council, an opinion offered in the bed. If you succeed, all the good for the Tyrell family, but if you fail, all the bad for us and our family is my treasure child," Olenna explained, revealing a vulnerability that seemed to match her age.

"This is the game of thrones, if I don't play then our family will always remain simple lords of Highgarden, I want to be the queen grandmother, more than a man who loves and respects me," Margaery said.

Olenna shook her head, though still smiled.

"You have learnt your lessons well it seems. I will admit though that the Amells would be an impressive family to marry into. They're making quite the impact, the gossip of the breakfast hall. But there is a fundamental problem with standing out, with living to your ideals. When I was your age, I once saw a man by the name of Amell, Fausten Amell, the phoenix himself. Oh and he burned brightly, what a man he was," Olenna grinned and Margaery looked away in embarrassment. "He fought and worked on fields, spoke with both nobility and commoners, and both loved him, but he clashed with others when it came to his ideals. That's what led to that fool Damion Amell's death, living by his ideals, the very ideals that Fausten Amell no doubt drummed into each of his grandchildren. I am glad you have no plans to marry into their family, because the problem with a family that lives by ideals is that often they die for them."

"You believe that the Amells will fall?" Margaery asked.

"I believe it is inevitable my dear," Olenna said.

"I feel the same way, I do respect them but, I would not support them if they were faced with great danger," Margaery said.

Olenna nodded her head in understanding and walked out of the room. Once the door was closed, Margaery hugged her arms, and then looked towards the window, hearing a noise. Dayk sat there, fully dressed, lowering his hood onto his head.

"Like I said, a better person than her," he whispered before jumping out.

Margaery rushed to the window, it was a sheer drop that would break a man's bones. But when she looked to the bottom, Dayk was simply walking away, rolling up some kind of rope in his hand. She ran her fingers across the ledge, looking at the Amell with the same lust in her eyes as she had the other night. He however kept walking, he had a tourney to organise after all.

* * *

Pentos-'the day the dragons died'

Fausten snatched his sword away from Viserys, making the boy fall to his knees. He grabbed Viserys by his hair and snarled at him.

"A dragon you are not, not even a snake with a quick and deadly strike, no, you're just a scared little boy hoping for a throne, taking his lack of success out on his little sister, I can see the bruises on her Viserys. Your mother would be ashamed of you," he explained.

Viserys had begun to blubber, holding up his hands in a pleading way. Daenerys's knees shook, and she backed herself against the wall.

"What did you know of our mother?" she asked.

"H-he lo-loved her," Viserys said.

He was trembling, and fell onto his back, looking up at Fausten with terror in his eyes. It was so different from what Daenerys saw from him, and she wondered if she looked like that whenever she 'woke the dragon' within Viserys. Fausten sighed and sat at the chair again, raising his hand to Daenerys. She flinched at first, closing her eyes, but when she opened them she saw the man was clearly waiting for her to give him something. The wine, she quickly put the skin in his hand and backed away.

"Rhaella," he whispered the name and smiled, taking a swig of the wine before throwing it at Viserys's chest.

"Before she married, she had apparently been in love with a knight, Bonifer something, we call him Baelor Butthole, he wore her favour at a joust but it of course didn't work. Anyway, she married your father as your grandfather had forced her to. Then the tragedy at Summerhall occurred, when I first met your father and mother. I carried him out of the flames, and she gave birth to your brother," Fausten explained.

"She told me about it, how you walked out of the fire carrying father. She said you were like a phoenix, the flames were your wings," Viserys said.

"She was delirious from having given birth, not that the title didn't spread, the phoenix they called me. I stayed in Westeros for a while, and saw both of your parents at their best. Not loving husband and wife, but loving brother and sister, two simple friends. Why would I need to be friends with a king or queen, you get all sorts of trouble for that. Aerys and I loved each other as brothers, and Rhaella and I tried the same thing, but, the more time we spent together, the more we..." Fausten raised his head, sniffed with his nose and then both Targaryens saw it, the tear of a man who had lost.

* * *

King's landing-'During the Reign of the dragon'

He was a young man, short black hair, a red shirt covering a chest that had yet to gain the scars that would one day coat his body. Standing in front of the doorway to the princess's chambers, he nervously knocked on it. When the door opened he was left silent, for there she stood. Her white hair flowed down to her back, her silk robe covered her elegant figure.

"Fausten," Rhaella whispered.

"May I come in princess?" he asked.

"Yes of course, please come inside," she said.

She closed the door behind him and walked to her table. There she poured two cups of wine. It would have been an insult to refuse her, so he took short sips as she sat down.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm sorry about your father," he said.

"He has taken ill, but this was always going to happen wasn't it, Aerys would be king and I would sit by his side as his queen. He tells me at night that he wants you to be his hand, or a kings guard, 'such a position would suit his gracious personality more', he said," she giggled slightly, drinking the wine in bigger gulps than he did.

Fausten set the cup on the table and shook his head.

"That isn't what I want, what I want, is to be a hero. A king's hand must always do what is best for the kingdom, a kings guard must give his life in protection of the king and his family. So I cannot be a hero, because a hero strives to save everyone. Yet Aerys would be king one day and he would command me to be something I cannot be, and I cannot refuse him," he explained.

"Would it be so bad, to give of yourself only for those you know, why must you try so hard for people you do not know?" Rhaella asked.

"Because that is what it means to be a hero, and I want that, to do something truly incredible, something worthwhile, I feel like it is my purpose," Fausten said.

Rhaella put her cup down and got off of the chair. She walked towards Fausten, moving her hand to his cheek.

"Let me command you, let me tell you to stay, to stay here in Westeros, with your friend and with me," she said.

"Rhaella," Fausten whispered.

"Stay with me, be happy with me, be a hand of the king, or a guard, be with me," Rhaella put her other hand on Fausten's chest and stepped closer to him.

"Do not take this a step further, do not do or say something you cannot take back," Fausten said.

"I love you Fausten," she stood on her toes and pushed her lips against his, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Fausten's hands shook, nearly touching the small of her back. Her lips felt perfect, gentle, he was no stranger to the kiss of either sex. This however was no meaningless pursuit, it felt blissful and good. It was taking every ounce of self control he had to not fully embrace her, to throw her onto the bed and make love to her. But he held himself back, gripping her shoulders and pulling her away.

"We cannot," he said.

Rhaella put her hand to her chest, a hurt expression crossing her face. Tears were nearly in her eyes, but she took hold of Fausten's hand, took hold of the hope that he would give in.

"Fausten please," she said.

"Rhaella, your brother...your husband, no matter the love I bear for him, he would never forgive me, nor would he forgive you," he explained.

Rhaella however touched Fausten's cheeks, seeing the pain in his eyes just as much as he could see her sadness. She moved her lips closer, only for him to tilt his head away.

"It would be treason, they would kill you and I would never forgive myself," he said.

"If I don't kiss you now, I might as well be dead," she said.

Fausten tried to pull away. He wasn't sure what, but something pushed him forward. At least, that was his excuse. When he gripped Rhaella's shoulders for support, their sincere eyes met, speaking more than words had for the past minute. He took hold of the small of her back and kissed her, Rhaella eagerly gripped the back of his head. They kissed for a few seconds before pulling away, Rhaella pulled Fausten's shirt over his head and he unfastened her robe. He took her into his arms, kissing her as he walked to the bed. Gently placing her down, he dipped his head down to meet hers, both removing one another's under clothes before they made love.

And love it was, the pair, gentle at first. Then when did it again they were consumed by the throes of passion. Coated in sweat, they smiled at one another, both lying on either side of the bed. She pulled his face to hers in another kiss. It was a long night, the longest of their lives and in the darkness they held one another. Purple eyes shined to meet blue ones, she caressed the scars on his back as he kissed her neck. Scars that she knew would grow worse one day. Neither spoke, and eventually she fell asleep with her back to him. He looked down at her and quivered with regret. Silently climbing out of bed, he dressed, one part of him hoping she would wake up.

'Wake up and command me to stay,' he thought.

* * *

Pentos

Daenerys and Viserys looked at the man after his confession, both nearly speechless. She expected her brother to react with anger, to curse Fausten despite his fear. Viserys had backed himself against the wall. But there was no fury or fear in his eyes, defeat Daenerys imagined, though she had not seen it before.

"She called to you once, when were at Dragon stone," he said. "Whenever we received news of your victories, she smiled, and then one day she had a nightmare, and she called out for you, not our father. She always tried to tell me that she loved our father, but I could see it in her eyes, she wanted you," Viserys explained.

He was crying at that point, reminding Daenerys of the days he would let himself be vulnerable with her. The young man pulled the cork off of the wine skin and tilted some of it down his throat. He wiped his eyes, then his mouth before he threw the skin back to Fausten.

"But still, father considered you his brother," Viserys said.

"Yes, when I was sailing back to Westeros with my family I imagined serving him in some way, standing beside him as he always wanted. But then Robert's rebellion, your father's madness, I lost a friend that day and I've been missing him ever since," Fausten explained.

"So how will you kill us?" Viserys asked.

"Fire, I figured that would be the most poetic thing!"

* * *

King's Landing

Robert was laughing, the council table shook as the king's belly rubbed against it. Stannis glared at his brother for his lack of etiquette, Renly recoiled in disgust, Arryn had the tired look of disappointment akin to a father with his child. Baelish seemed disinterested, but Varys could see his smirk as he lifted his cup to his lips. Pycelle too hid a look of delight under his beard. Varys remained stoic, he had just told the king how the Targaryens had died and it made him laugh.

'And I thought the man wasn't cruel, I feared Joffrey's rule, not his, still we all have men we hate,' the masters of whispers thought.

"Brilliant," Robert smacked the table. "Brilliant, 'Fire and blood', well now your bloods on fire, YES!" Robert yelled, shaking the table again.

"Your grace this is unbecoming of you," Stannis said, gritting his teeth as he spoke.

"And so what if it is, that bastard Rhaeger took the love of my life, raped and left her to die in the tower of joy, now that cursed blood line is gone forever, no more dragons, they truly are extinct now," Robert laughed.

He grabbed his wine cup and poured, and poured and poured.

"A toast, to the last of the dragons, they burned in life, now let them burn in seven hells with their father and brother," Robert raised his cup high.

Varys raised his cup with the others, only Stannis and Arryn didn't. It didn't anger Robert, he simply drank as he always did. Robert left there and then, and Arryn dissolved the council for the day, issues of the treasury and what happened in the Meadow no longer an issue. As Varys walked away he thought of the Targaryens, he had put his lot in with helping them discreetly. One bird would pass a message on to an assassin, whilst another would warn the Targaryens. He directed them to his old friend Mopatis. Now both they and the Magister were dead. Illyrio's death perplexed Varys, and he knew that there was some plot at work, and Robert's reaction confirmed his suspicions that the king had had no part in it.

* * *

Pentos

Illyrio Mopatis had just had the best sex of his life, and he knew the girl could offer more. He was sweating so much that the bed was coated. And Mopatis hadn't even intended to spend the whole night at the pleasure house. The bed groaned as he got out of bed, looking for his robe. He then looked to the dark haired woman at the end of the bed. Her pale skin had been a contrast to him, she had that muscular figure though he suspected she would still look womanly in a dress. Fastening the corset around her shoulder less black top, Mopatis noted the purple feathers hanging off of the sleeves near her shoulders. She couldn't have been from Tevinter, she lacked the skin tone. Wherever she was from, she had certainly made Illyrio's night magical.

"My dear, I simply must take you away from this whore house," he said.

"Oh I don't permanently work here," she smirked, putting on a pair of riding gloves.

There was a sudden clicking sound, followed by footsteps. Out of the darkness of the house came a man in a chainmail shirt, belt straps across his waist had two pouches on them. Steel guards covered his shoulders and leather gloves his hands. A ragged scarf around his neck also acted as a hood, and a sword was strapped to his back. He held in one of his hands an identical long sword.

"What is the meaning of this?" Illyrio demanded.

"Well done Laurien, grandfather will be pleased," the man pulled back his hood.

Mopatis widened his eyes in shock. He recognised the man nearly instantly.

"Damion Amell," he whispered.

He seemed to be the man's twin, except for the shocking silver hair on his head. Though he certainly seemed old enough to be Damion.

"You knew him I see, he was a smuggler before he died a hero after all," the man smirked.

He had the Amell eyes, it was impossible not to believe he was Damion.

"I am a bastard," he said.

"A bastard, impossible, Fausten was a clean man, he fathered no bastards," Mopatis said.

"There was one, at least one worth speaking of, he was my father," the man said.

"But Fausten Amell is dead, what quarrel would you have with me?" Mopatis asked.

"The prince and princess in your custody, that is our interest, the interest of James Marcher and his army. My name is Aeron Marcher, my companion Laurien and I act on his behalf, in fulfilling his ambition, and unfortunately Magister, you are an obstacle to that ambition," the man explained.

"Wait," Illyrio raised his hands. "I have gold, a lot of gold, whatever you are being paid I will double it, triple it even."

"You are going to die here Illyrio, you have two choices," Laurien said.

Aeron reached into his pouch, pulling out a vial. Then he threw the sword at Illyrio's feet.

"Peacefully with this," Aeron waved the vial around. "Or with a little pride, you were a sell sword once, apparently muscle memory can last a long time. Though you don't have a lot of muscle left," he added.

Illyrio looked at the no doubt poison filled vial, and then at the sword at his feet. Then he looked into the eyes of both his assailants. Really, he chided himself, he should have seen it sooner in the woman. He knew the eyes of killers, he had fought alongside, under and even broken bread with killers. Cut throats whom did deplorable things to claim the name 'nobility'. The people who had no chivalry within them, and committed murder to get things done. They were going to kill him, which left him only one choice. He sighed as he bent his knees, picking up the sword.

"I've not used a sword for years, please don't laugh," he said.

Aeron pulled the sword off of his back and smiled.

"Never, Illyrio Mopatis," he said.

It was quick, one could hardly call it a fight. Aeron and Laurien left the headless body so that Varys's birds could find it in the morning. Their hoods covering their heads, they moved through the streets to where their expected rendezvous would be.

* * *

"They're you," was what Fausten had said, when Illyrio's servants, no, his servants, dropped bodies at their feet. Daenerys asked whom they were, and Fausten told her that the man was a young soldier of his whom died in the desert. He was Viserys's height, if not his build. The other seemed much closer to looking like Daenerys. When asked where she came from, Fausten simply said she deserved to die and didn't elaborate. Under the cover of the night, the servants started the fire and Fausten, Viserys and Daenerys left.

But neither of them forgot Fausten's words.

"You will never retake the seven kingdoms as you are now, accept my help, my training and guidance, and I promise that if you cannot take Westeros, you will at least come to match your ancestor's legacy!"

Daenerys felt shocked that she was the first to speak, to say yes.

"It doesn't make what happened right," Viserys said.

"Then if by the end of this conquest, or any other point you believe I should be executed, then use what I have taught you, in the mean time listen and learn," Fausten, or James as they had to call him now said.

They came to an old barn, and waited. Neither Viserys or Daenerys were wearing the fine clothing they wore before.

"Get used to wearing rags, and to the itch of lice, you're going to need to understand the common folk as much as the nobility," he told them.

They waited through the night with no food, and it didn't take them long to finish the wine. As they waited, Daenerys curiously watched James sharpen his knife, occasionally mixing some kind of black substance in a tin. It was sticky and oozed between the spoon and the container. Viserys had a short rest before he awoke, scratching his neck as he looked at what James was making.

"What is that?" Viserys asked.

"This," James grinned, "Is what I'm going to put in your hair, after I've cut it!"

Viserys shook his head and laughed.

"You're not touching our hair," he said.

James laughed for a moment, then his face suddenly became serious. By the time the sun rose and James's contacts met them, Viserys and Daenerys walked out of the hut, both with short black hair. Aeron lifted his hood up, and both Targaryens looked at him with the same shock that Illyrio once had.

"This is Aeron Marcher, he's my eldest grandson," James said.

"How come he gets to keep his hair?" Viserys asked grudgingly.

"Because he's not going to be squiring for me," James turned to both Viserys and Daenerys. "I will help you take back your home, or make a new one, whichever one manages to make you feel complete. But you cannot, for now, go forward as Targaryens. For now you will be my squires, bastards Vincent and Danielle. I'm going to teach you both how to fight, how to lead armies, and how to govern lands. You both want to play the game of thrones, I can't guarantee you'll win, but I can teach you both how to not die!"

There path had been set, and the group rode away from Pentos, the world believing that the last of the dragons were finally dead. Daenerys rode close to James, looking at him, intrigued.

"You said once your dream was to be a hero, why could you not do it?" she asked him.

"I once wanted to be a hero, but I grew older and older and I found myself killing people more than saving them. Then I found love, and a family, a purpose. My son is dead, and now my daughter had inherited the purpose of guiding the next generation of Amells, or the ones that she can at least," James explained.

"What do you mean?"

"There is one in Thedas, my grandson, Daylen Amell, he has inherited my dream of being a hero!"

Daenerys saw the smile on James's face, not a smirk, but a genuine smile. In a far off land, a scarred, red eyed man took the next step on his journey. Whilst another with red eyes veiled by magic, continued on his path. One day, the dragons, griffins and chimeras would converge.

Next Chapter 11: A dream

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A song of Ice and Fire

Finally an update, with a bit of a twist on this chapter.

* * *

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 11: A dream

The bells rang, echoing through the streets. Fausten stood near the thrones, white haired and in silver armour with a green cloak. He stood proudly holding the crown, seeing the crowd of knights and nobility. His charges stepped through, the seven white knights beside them. Revka was cheering in the background, the other Amell children spread out. But when the pair reached the throne, the crowd grew silent and Fausten raised his hand.

"Two years ago, we set out on a journey, a journey to take back the seven kingdoms. And through great sacrifice, we achieved that goal, it is my great pleasure as hand of the dragons to now crown them both," he walked behind the young white haired man, holding up the crown. "I hereby crown Viserys Targaryen, third of his name, king of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the first men, lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm," he said as he placed the crown on the man's head.

Then he walked behind the girl, raising another crown over her head. "I hereby crown Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name, queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the first men, lady of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm. People of Westeros, I present to you your king and queen, long may the dragons reign again!"

The crowd was in a frenzy, cheering in blissful happiness. White and blue flowers were thrown at the feet of the queen and king as they walked forward, both raising their hands. The people became silent on the unspoken command of their king and queen.

"We would not have done this alone, and there is still more to be done, step forward grey warden!" Viserys commanded.

Forward he walked, the nobility clearing the way, knights bowing their heads in respect. His silver boots clanked against the ground, plates of armour also covering his scale shirt. A small breast plate covered his chest, and on it was the gold symbol of the Grey Wardens.

"Remove your helmet," Daenerys said.

His gauntleted fingers fixed over the helm, pulling it off and revealing himself to the crown. His tanned complexion, his wild brown hair, his Amell blue eyes. He knelt to the king and queen, lowering his head. But both quickly stepped to his sides, grasping his shoulders.

"No Daylen Amell," Viserys shook his head.

"It is we who bow to you," Daenerys said.

And both newly crowned rulers bowed, followed by the knights, then the nobility and then the common folk gathered on the streets, and the rooftops.

"We bow to you, hero of the Fifth Blight!"

Fausten looked over his grandson, the celebration echoing out of the great hall. A banquet was being hosted for the returned rulers of Westeros, the true rulers of Westeros. Finally the dragons sat on the iron throne and a new age would begin. An age of peace and prosperity, in which Westeros would trade and cooperate with the region of Thedas. Yet still, one person whom the nobility also celebrated stood in the yard, swinging his sword. Again and again Daylen swung it, holding the blade with both hands and slashing the air. It was as if he was imagining an enemy in front of him. There were still enemies to face, the stag and the lion, all they needed to do was end them. Fausten walked down the steps, clapping with each step he took. It drew Daylen's attention as Fausten intended.

"A warrior's training is never done, your siblings are waiting Day," Fausten said.

"I'm sorry, just a little longer," Daylen took a step and swung the sword over his head, then at a wide angle.

"Many women in that hall would want to dance with you, even the queen herself," Fausten grinned, stepping closer to Daylen.

Daylen took a step back and thrust his sword, then swung again and held it out in a blocking stance. Holding the blade in front of him, he relaxed his stance and ran his gloved hands over the flat edge of the green blade. An expression of curiosity crossed his face and he stared at the blade, fascinated by it until Fausten slapped him on the back.

"Come grandson, there are people wishing to meet you, we will have time for training and the like later," he said.

The young man nodded his head and followed Fausten up the steps. Upon entering the hall, all of the nobles raised their cups to Fausten and Daylen. One whom had united the kingdoms under the dragons, and the other whom had saved the world. Fausten and Daylen raised cups together and toasted the rule of the dragons, drinking and eating. A dance began and the two men clapped their hands, crisscrossing feet and joining hands with their partners. Fausten looked over to Daylen as he danced with a red haired girl, the first smile of the night crossing his face. He moved to a blonde elf, whom threw her arms around him when the music pace quickened. Soon most of the hall was dancing in a circle.

"Oh thank you, sorry, sorry, I have to stop," Fausten said.

He laughed and let out deep breaths, taking another drink. It had been a long struggle, and his life of war was finally beginning to take its toll. But he was surprisingly eager to spend his last days resting. Only after the Targaryen dynasty was truly secure. The Baratheons were still out there, and as the night grew calmer the war councils formed at each family table. Fausten though stood close to the head table, where the king and queen sat. Not far from them stood Daylen, whom listened in as Fausten expected him to.

"There is dissent amongst the Baratheon ranks, they do not think that the usurper can win the coming battle," Fausten said.

"Can we expect the Stag's men to defect?" Viserys asked.

"They are usually known for their loyalty, yet times have changed, he has become more monster than man," Daenerys said.

"I fear what may happen if it comes to a battle," Fausten said.

Daylen had been listening, his mind already beginning to formulate a plan, as Fausten expected. The young man looked up at the ceiling and seemed lost in it when a woman threw her arms around him.

"Brother, it's wonderful to see you," Dayla said.

Daylen stepped back, seeing Dayla, Revion, Aristanna and Dayk. His hands shook as they approached him.

"What troubles you brother?" Revion asked, grasping Daylen's shoulder.

"Weren't expecting us until the morning were you? We rode out early from the Meadow, our men are ready to follow you Daylen," Dayk said.

"But of course, who wouldn't want to follow the hero of the blight, and the new lord of the Meadow?" a voice asked behind the three Amell youths.

They moved aside, smiling as Daylen widened his eyes, looking upon his mother. She walked past her niece and children, to embrace her oldest son. He lowered his head for a moment, burying his face in her shoulder for just a moment. It was long enough to enjoy a hug with his mother. But it was only a moment. He took hold of her shoulders and pulled her back.

"Revion is Lord of the Meadow, the title is his," he said.

"It can be yours if you want it brother, you're the oldest of us after all," Revion said.

Daylen turned away, walking towards the door again, much to Fausten's disappointment. He knew a great many men that couldn't live in peace, that couldn't turn away from the fight. Those kinds of men seldom met good ends, and Fausten had no desire to see Daylen meet such a fate. He followed his grandson through the door, towards the training dummy. Daylen took a sword from the weapon's rack and began to hit the dummy, he held the sword with both hands and swung it in a wide arc, a forward slice and a thrust with one hand.

"What is wrong Daylen?" Fausten asked.

Daylen stabbed his sword into the ground and turned to Fausten.

"I just feel tired, all of this though feels wrong, for the longest time I thought we would never see each other again," the mage said.

"You should have known better boy, nothing can keep us apart, we are your family, our paths are destined to cross," Fausten stated.

"You were dead, how has this come to pass?" Daylen asked.

"Come now Daylen, you did not truly believe that I was gone did you? You did not truly believe that I had given up on the Targaryens? That I would not find a way to end the corruption of Westeros, to make a place where everyone can be happy?" Fausten walked around Daylen's sword as he spoke, gesturing to the stables, the ground beneath them and the stars above them.

Daylen gazed up at them, trying to distract himself in the familiar lights. Fausten saw this and smiled at his grandson, stargazing was always something he enjoyed. He decided to leave him be, to enjoy it. Passing the young man, he patted his shoulder and continued towards the main hall.

"It was a night like this wasn't it grandfather?" Daylen asked.

Fausten stopped, looking back at Daylen in confusion.

"What do you mean?" he asked him.

"When my dream was formed, when you passed your old dream to me," Daylen said.

"Yes, my old dream, try to rest Daylen, try," Fausten mused as he returned to the hall.

* * *

Before the paths of Griffin, Phoenix and Chimera converged, both Phoenix and Chimera reacted to the changing world 'without the Targaryens'. In Essos, Danielle and Vincent Marcher rode through the desert with their new teacher and commander. James Marcher rode beside Aeron, his grandson whom reminded him so much of Damion in terms of his facial appearance. The man looked over his shoulder at his aunt and uncle, smirking as Vincent frowned and Danielle looked away, uncomfortable with her hair.

"Don't worry, you both look good as brunettes," he laughed.

"Play nice Aeron," James scolded.

"So you are the son of my mother's bastard? What happened to him?" Vincent demanded.

"Long story," Aeron said dismissively.

"We are in for a long ride," Vincent huffed.

"Not really, we're approaching our camp now," James said.

"Camp?" Danielle raised her eyebrows in confusion.

They saw no tents, no stalls or carpets flung across the ground. Only the remains of old fires, and the men and women cleaning equipment, conversing or sparring. Danielle looked towards Durad, the horned man a new sight for her. He caught her staring and winked at her, causing her to blush. Durad finished applying the string of a bow and handed it to one of the recruits. A boy with messy blonde hair faced off against Asher. He brandished his knife and yelled as he ran at the Westerosi, who tapped the side of his face with the flat of his blade, then tripped him face first into the sand. Danielle expected the child to cry, but to her shock the boy looked up with utter hatred in her eyes.

"You have experienced quite a hard life, the both of you," James said, catching her attention. "But you'll quickly find your suffering has been nothing in comparison to what some of these people have faced."

"When will we march for our next battle?" Vincent asked.

"When I have picked a contract my squire," James said.

They were given a near stale loaf to share amongst themselves. Brother and sister ate the crusty crumbs and drank the warm water they were given. Vincent received sunburn by the night time, and they had to huddle together by the fire. Danielle watched from the fire as James ran drills with his troops. Exercises that stretched their muscles, she watched whilst Vincent fell asleep. It was not the sight of rippling muscles that caught her attention, rather the unity she saw in that moment. Each of the soldiers moved in synch with one another, dedicated to getting stronger. When the sun rose, James dropped two spears, the shafts still soaked with blood, onto their huddled bodies.

"What is this?" Vincent demanded.

"The weapon you're going to start practicing with," James said.

"What about a sword?"

"Most common conscripts start with a spear, sometimes they're lucky to even get a shirt of chainmail. You're both going to carry those spears along with a bag of pots and pans, you'll run exercises with the spears, practice with them and come nightfall sleep with them in your grip," James explained.

Danielle recalled a time at their first hideaway, when she carried a bucket of water from the well. That paled in comparison to walking in the sun with a bag of equipment and a spear. She and her brother fell behind the soldiers, whom did not wait. There came a point when Vincent fell to his knees, demanding her water. As his sister, she gave it. After a rest, they kept on and found the soldiers already drilling. Running on the spot and then dropping to the floor, they repeated this in synch. Then they pushed their arms against the sand, lifting their bodies up again and again.

"VINCENT! DANIELLE!" James yelled to them, holding a wooden stick.

He twirled the staff around and quickly slapped Vincent's legs, knocking him face first into the ground. Then he swung the stick, stopping it at Danielle's cheek. To his disappointment, she had dropped her spear in shock.

"Get up Vincent," James tapped his back and stood in front of both of them, gesturing for Danielle to join her brother.

She moved to help him, but James shook his head. Vincent already sported sun burn on his face, and he had to spit sand out of his mouth. James slammed his stick into the ground, waiting for them to form up.

"Both hands on your weapon, adjust your footing for balance, then," he demonstrated, swinging the staff to the left and right before thrusting it. "NOW!" he yelled.

Vincent and Danielle practiced with the spear, thrusting and slashing. After training they were sent to an oasis to wash clothes and pots.

"This is the job of servants," Vincent snarled.

"What happens when the servants are gone? A ruler who can do these things is clearly someone who isn't useless, now scrub," James demanded.

Immediately after they were subjected to the spear exercises again. They slept holding the weapons, the smell of whoever had used it last no longer bothered Danielle.

"UP NOW!" a voice yelled above them.

Sand was thrown into their faces, and when they recovered they looked up at the towering form of a dark skinned man.

"Up now little squires, you have training to do," he said, voice thick with an accent Danielle didn't know of.

"Try not to break them Kas'Im," Asher and a few of the other men laughed.

"I was a slave in Tevinter, and a labourer in Par Vollen, it is time for you both to get a taste of the life of a slave, for however long it takes to turn your stick like limbs into glorious muscle," the man flexed his arms as he spoke.

"How will we have a taste?" Vincent asked and the man grinned.

He held up in his powerful arms multiple links of chains. And so, for the whole day, Danielle and Vincent dragged those chains behind them. They marched with the soldiers carrying those chains, rested with the chains as pillows. Kas'Im put together pulley mechanisms, using the chains as weights they had to lift. They were exhausted and aching by the end of the day. And they were subjected to the same treatment again the next day.

"Commanders must be strong, fighters must be strong, strength can be measured by technique. But greater strength and stamina makes for better technique," James said as she ran with them around the camp.

Danielle collapsed from the exhaustion of her muscles.

"No more, please, please no more," she begged.

"Keep going little girl, KEEP GOING! RUN!" Kas'Im yelled.

"I can't, I CAN'T PLEASE!" Danielle screamed.

She felt ashamed when she slept alone and Vincent moved onto training with a sword.

"Hey Danielle," Durad shook her shoulder.

"No more training please," she said.

"Oh trust me, you don't want to miss this," the Kossith grinned.

He carried her to the training area, where people watched Vincent face James. The older man had only his blade, whilst Vincent was wearing a chest plate and gloves. He drew the sword he had been given, swinging it in a wide arc before getting into a stance. James batted it out of Vincent's hand with a tap, and the crowd roared in laughter. Danielle found herself sharing their amusement over the situation. James ran his hand across his face in embarrassment.

"This is going to take a lot of work," he said.

Danielle cooked, cleaned, and after two days she put herself back into training. The company took on a contract for land owners, and battled a rival mercenary company. Danielle heard the throes of battle, but she supported the wounded. Vincent would carry men in, utilising his strength training. And Danielle would learn of sewing wounds, disinfecting and being merciful to the suffering. She saw healers remove daggers from their belts to put in pain men out of their misery. She cried that night and that morning, but threw herself to her training. Carrying chains with hatred, performing the stretches with the army, practicing with her spear. It would be a long time before she could consider herself a fighter. But she certainly stronger now than the girl she used to be. Her brother though:

"Attack, attack slow, ATTACK! slow," James said, parrying Vincent's thrust.

Vincent stood uncomfortable following James's movements of the sword.

"Very good, now, how about a drink?" James asked.

The company celebrated a victory and a pay day. Four weeks since they joined them, and Danielle could see the difference in her brother's temperament as well as his physique. The intensive training was paying off not just in Vincent's body, but like her he was stronger in character than the person he used to be. He at least wasn't wording his complaints over scrubbing pots whilst the rest of the soldiers drank. By the time the men fell asleep, Vincent had fallen asleep hugging one of the pots. Danielle rubbed the last bit of grime off of a cup before she looked up, dazzled by the beauty of the stars.

"It was a night just like this!"

James walked around Vincent, sitting down between former prince and former princess.

"What was?" Danielle asked.

"A night my grandson and I sat and looked up at the stars, and discussed the nature of dreams, the hope of the future and the disappointment of old age," James explained.

"What was your dream Fau...James?" Danielle corrected herself.

"I dreamed of being a hero, of saving others, I told Daylen that and in that moment I felt truly happy. Because that dream became his. Yet, the bitterness of old age tells me that he must have changed, as all do in age, yet I still hold hope. Because every other grandchild of mine never told me that, that they would become a hero. Not even my granddaughter, so defiant of society's expectations of her, not even her brother, so strong and determined to do right, or the youngest of them who always sought approval. Even their cousin had no interest, instead wishing to speak of heroic deeds and commit them to song," James explained.

"What is your dream now?" Danielle asked.

"Now I dream of seeing an old family restored, but greater than it was before, not repeating the mistakes of the past and willing to make their country better. But more than that, I dream of seeing him again, of seeing him fulfil that dream, of being a hero," James whispered.

* * *

Daylen looked up at the stars, raising a gauntleted hand to cover one of the stars. In place of the gauntlet, he saw a glove, and simplistic armour over it. Withdrawing his hand he ran it across his face and shook his head. He looked towards his sword and saw in its place a staff. Why did he see these things? He asked himself, where was her truly? Was this really how his life had turned out? Was this really his dream?

* * *

Honestly this was not his dream. Yet, it was appealing. The common people looked at him with love, and his opponent looked at him with respect. Leo slid his visor down and readied his sword and shield. His opponent slid his own visor down and drew his long sword. The young man was a knight in service of a lord whom had tried to touch a page of common birth. He claimed the boy had stolen from his room. It didn't matter what he stole, what mattered was that when he touched the boy's cock, his feelings were not reciprocated. In truth, Leo knew that the boy had stolen from his lord as well. He wanted to slaughter the lord, because he was so weak as to be driven by 'that' kind of desire. He didn't even take the time to remember the bastard's name.

His opponent though, Percy Wallstone, was someone worth remembering. He was the same age as his true rival, and was himself a worthy opponent. A good person, perhaps, if not for his honour. He served his lord, and right or wrong, he did as his lord commanded. For that was what honour demanded. As he and Leo clashed, Leo again faced the rush of an opponent stronger than him. Percy had been trained in a yard, Leo gained his training from the dreams of the fade, and through struggling through the dirt. They slammed their blades together and tackled one another to the ground. Percy managed to pin Leo and punch him, heavy plate crashing against a heavy helmet. Leo heard their laboured breathing. Yet neither were willing to give up. Leo tackled Percy before he could grab his sword from the ground.

Wrapping his arm around Percy's neck, he locked his legs around Percy's arm, taking the blows to his head from the knight's free hand. They rolled across the dirt and Leo felt his bones ache. Percy was relentless, legs kicking, bashing at Leo's head and side. Yet Leo tightened his grip, his dream fading from his mind to focus on that boy. A thief true, but a victim also, the lord was not exercising power but conveying his true weakness. Leo had no disgust over same sex relationships, but he considered rape, the abuse of authority for sex to be the greatest of weaknesses. Even more so than cowering when one had spent their whole life tormenting others. Percy thrashed around out of survival instinct, not out of fear of dying. That made Leo respect him even more, and consider the knight's master even more pathetic. But he tightened his hold and broke the knight's neck all the same. Throwing off his helm, drenched in sweat, he dropped coins at the lord's feet.

"Your man was brave until the last moment, see that he is treated with honours," he said to the lord.

There was no reward waiting for him, save for the love of the common folk, and the respect of those knights. The boy thanked him, swearing to serve him or perform any service when he asked. A favour would be a good thing to use in the future. But Leo was too tired to stay in that village. He accepted the thanks and left. Being thanked by the villagers felt too good, it wasn't what he truly wanted. Leo sat at his fire, stroking Omega and looking up at the stars.

'This is all just a build up to my dream,' Leo thought.

In the light of the star, he saw the light his rival created that day. The sword of pure mana, more powerful than any blade a Knight-Enchanter would create. More powerful than that Iron Maiden of Orlais. Leo touched his chest and remembered its sting, truly his rival appeared like the hero of a tale that day. He saw in the light of the stars the defiance and courage of his rival, the rage he had always wanted from him. Arm burnt, face scarred, having lost the woman he loved in exchange for his own life. That day, Daylen Amell had awakened, and after suffering defeat, so too had Leo's true self. In the night he felt the scar on his chest and remembered his dream, the yearning for that battle again.

'You dream Daylen, immortality through heroism, my dream, immortality as your villain,' Leo grinned.

Yet, being a hero too felt good, even if it wasn't his dream.

* * *

Daylen sat on the field, looking at his hands and then the stars. A woman appeared before him and smiled, red haired, beautiful, like...Daylen tried to look away from her, back at the stars when she forced her lips on his. She tried to unbuckle his belt but he slapped her hands away.

"Husband, why do you recoil?" she asked him.

He trembled, walking away from her. Looking ahead, Daylen saw the corridors of the castle. They grew darker, the walls grew cobwebs, the doors became iron bars. He heard laughing, leaning against the wall and seeing his siblings playing in the banquet hall. Their laughs slowly turned into screams.

* * *

Revion heard the screams of celebration outside his office. A united Meadow, and the first step in his plot. He continued applying quill to paper, writing out invitations and correspondents. All the while, he looked at the star shining through his window. That star that caught his eye, that star that reminded him of his dream. Then the other star came and Revion smiled. Selene locked the door behind her and walked towards him.

"It is done, one army for one land, our families now truly united," she said.

"Just the beginning my love, our dream is only just beginning," Revion mused, adding more words to his letter.

She took the quill from his hand, gripping the sides of his head. He rose to embrace her, then they kissed.

"What was your dream Revion?" she asked as he kissed her neck.

"You know my dream, an end," he said, their hands in synch with one another, unbuttoning one another's clothes.

"No, I want to know, I must," she said between kisses, linking her lips with his passionately whilst he gripped the back of her head, deepening the passion of the kiss.

They fell onto the bed, losing themselves momentarily to the passion. Making love whilst their kingdom in the making celebrated its rise, they intended not just to love each other, but to conceive their first child. As Selene gasped in ecstasy, Revion gave her a final kiss before slipping onto the spot beside her. Still holding one another, Selene smiled at him.

"My old dream," he said between breaths. "I wanted to fix everything that was wrong, and stand beside heroes. For all of my brothers and my sister to stand with me as we changed the world," Revion explained.

"You want to bring your family together again, that's why you asked that girl to find your brother in Thedas," Selene said.

"I did, so that I could first give him the sword, the first part of my will," Revion said.

"Your will," Selene looked at her husband in confusion.

"He took on grandfather's dream, why would he not be able to take on mine? My brother, if he aims to really be a hero, then shouldn't he do something that truly matters? Something that will change this ugly world?"

"Is the world truly as ugly as you say?" Selene asked, kissing Revion's cheek.

"No, it's worse."

* * *

Revka looked up at the stars as she stirred her tea. She smelt the fumes in her cup and smiled, thinking of the starry night she watched her three children play together. Her three children, one so far away, yet not even that could keep her from enjoying the sight of those three children dreaming of being heroes and icons for the age. It was Revka's hope to live and see her children, every one of them become all they intended on being. She had witnessed Dayla become a warrior and champion, had witnessed Revion become lord of the Meadow. In her heart she knew she still had to wait and see what both Dayk and Daylen would become. Her oldest and her youngest, yet the furthest from her, both in different ways.

"It was a night like this also wasn't it Daylen, when I saw you dream for the first time," Revka whispered.

* * *

Daylen walked onwards, towards his uncertain future. He came to a grand hall where his family celebrated. Fausten waved him over, holding a goblet in his hand.

"My grandson, here he is," he said. "A toast, to the hero of Ferelden, the hero of Westeros!"

Daylen walked over to Fausten, unphased by the people who toasted.

"What are we celebrating?" he asked.

"Your defeat of the Archdemon of course, a spectacular achievement," Fausten said.

"How did I achieve that?"

"Oh that matters little, come now join us in toasting grandson. you have returned to us. Crossed the ocean, defied treaties and joined us where you truly belong," Fausten explained.

"HAIL THE HERO OF FERELDEN! LORD OF THE MEADOW!" the family members yelled.

"Enough," Daylen snarled, teeth gritting together.

Fausten looked at Daylen in shock as the king and queen came over.

"Is there something the matter Daylen?" Daenerys asked.

"It's fuzzy, but here I am being praised for killing the Archdemon, praised with a place at court, and I even have a wife who is exactly what I like in a woman at least physically," Daylen explained.

"I see," Viserys laughed. "Not enough is it, fine, hand of the king!"

"Oh Daylen, I can't think of anyone better suited to replace me," Fausten said attempting to clap Daylen on the shoulder.

But Daylen smacked his hand away, frowning at all three of them.

"My memory is incomplete, but I know a fake when I see one."

"Daylen, perhaps you should rest, it has been a long day," Revka said.

"Yes brother, I am sorry, we didn't think of how exhausted you must be," Dayk said.

"Shut up!"

His siblings paused, the whole room fell silent.

"Dayk, Revion, Dayla, I've never met any of you, so I have no idea what you really look like, or sound like. But you all look exactly like I'd imagine you to look in my dreams," Daylen said, smiling briefly.

"Yes brother, isn't it beautiful...

"Life though isn't that great, the simple fact is my dreams won't tell me the reality of what you'd look like. Just like they won't tell me what Westeros armour looks like, why it just seems to be a variation of what the Grey Wardens wear," Daylen brushed his hand across his chest plate.

Then his finger snapped towards Fausten's armour.

"Or why it's a variation of what Templars wear. My 'wife', even Daenerys, they're just Surana with different shades of hair and alterations to the cheeks. I'm no expert on Westerosi architecture but why does the hall look like the hall at the circle tower? Why do the corridors look like...like," Daylen put his hands to his head as he spoke.

"Rest Daylen, just rest," Fausten tried to approach Daylen again, but had his arms swatted away.

"NO!" Daylen yelled.

He stepped back and raised his head, putting a fist to his heart.

"This is a good looking dream, but it's a dream, it isn't real. I'm not a hero yet, but I'm trying to be...Redcliffe, I remember Redcliffe. The promise I made to save Conner. Your deception is over DEMON!" Daylen yelled, his armour fading to be replaced with the clothes he was actually wearing.

'Fausten' narrowed his eyes as the other people around him sneered.

"Very well, keep your darkspawn and your blights if you want boy, if you will not rest in this dream, then fall to the **nightmare!"** his voice echoed as he took on the demonic appearance of a Revenant.

Likewise the other people in the hall turned into shades, wrath demons, Bereskarns and undead warriors. Daylen flexed his hands, electricity and fire burning between them before a pair of short swords materialised in his hands.

"Now I've got a child to save, a circle of friends to stop getting annulled too, so get the fuck out of my way asshole!" Daylen dropped into a stance, eyes burning red before he rushed forward.

Next Chapter 12: Battle for the tower

* * *

Gasp...it was a dream!

Next time, Daylen's story continues as he faces the Sloth demon and Uldred in the broken circle.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of ice and Fire or Dragon Age

This chapter didn't include the content I originally intended for it. But we all know how things can turn out from the Dragon Age games, I wanted to explore more Daylen's personal conflict, and how the magic of Westeros (Hulk-Banner: TIME TRAVEL :) can play with the magic of Thedas. So it became an original version of the Fade conflict.

* * *

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 12: Battle for the tower

Daylen looked at the path ahead of him, his vision flashing between the fade, and the waking world. In the world of the awakened he remembered, and in the fade, he pushed forward and fought.

One blade covered in fire, and another covered in ice, the mage rushed towards his opponents. The Revenant swung its massive sword around, and at the last moment Daylen jumped to the side. He slid across the floor, ducking underneath the swipe of a shade. Before the shade could follow through, Daylen swung both arms and cut through the demon. The flames of a wrath demon flew towards him, and Daylen slammed his ice sword into the ground, creating a row of ice. Shades slithered around the ice and raised their arms to attack him. Daylen slashed one with both his swords, barely side stepped another's blow and stabbed through it before jumping back to avoid another's slash. Adjusting his footing and the angles of his blade, he feinted an attack before turning into a thrust, ploughing through the shade. The Revenant however slammed its sword into Daylen's, knocking him off of his feet and making him fall to the ground.

He remembered the signet ring, Teagan came to them after the Arl's wife came down from the castle, begging Teagan to follow her. Maybe it was the bias Daylen gained from Alistair's description of her unkind behaviour towards him, but Daylen didn't trust her. She was clearly a noble woman, her hair just a little rough from the experience. But she didn't have the wounds or scars that the villagers had, that his party had. If she had taken to Ferelden culture at all, it didn't show in her voice at least, her accent was even thicker than Leliana's. She said it was the fault of a mage, the revelation that their son Conner was a mage shed some light on what was going on. A hurt family member, a child desperate for help, turning to a whisper in the darkness.

'What will you give to save your family?'

It brought back the flames, that day he was found, that day he looked upon his grandfather and mother's relieved and loving faces. His earliest memory, and what made him who he truly was. Then the blood of his grandfather being spilt, his cry to stop it all. His cry to save them, and that whisper in the dark.

'What will you take to save them?'

The rage as he rose from the Revenant's strike, swords blazing with energy, darkness covering his body. His eyes shone through the darkness, blood red, and aura that seeped over his being. The undead warriors came towards him, but fell in a flurry of red energy. With his swords he cut a trail, slicing through the bones and screaming, a horrific sound like a demon. He ran into the undead.

The undead were in the castle when they got in, using the signet ring on the mechanism in the old mill. Teagan had been right, a passageway, one that ran through the dungeons.

What had been in the dungeons?

He remembered didn't he?

They fought through the castle, found servants whom survived, found the blacksmith's daughter and fulfilled another promise. He had made a promise, he remembered.

'What would you do to save others?'

He screamed, the darkness fading as he dived out of the way of a darkspawn projection. The fade shifted, becoming the ruins of Ostagar, the battle he never truly fought in. His will reacted, summoning a sword from memory. A green blade he held with both hands to slash desperately through the projections.

* * *

He remembered kneeling in front of the boy, giving him the sword.

"Maybe one day, you'll be a hero too!" he said to him.

A hero, the stars upon which he made that promise, the man he made that promise to, they all flashed before his eyes. And the fade shifted, to the halls of a Chantry. He saw her kneeling, he remembered her name, her mother liked flowers that grew by the mill. He gave her those flowers and she smiled, but now she prayed. Prayed because she well and truly believed, prayed because she believed in her god, believed in the woman telling her to pray . This woman must have been her mentor, or a mother figure. She truly looked at peace. It was a lie, the maker, the chant, it was all a lie.

'How far would you go to make someone see?'

* * *

They fought together to the main hall of Redcliffe castle. There, Teagan danced like a court jester, made faces at a boy whom wasn't at all amused. His voice went at a pitch as the boy spoke in a voice that wasn't his own, telling his mother to shut up.

"Nobody tells him what to do anymore, nobody!"

The power filled the air, the corrupting influence. He looked at the boy and saw standing over him the shadow of a horned woman, grey skinned, hair of purple flames and clawed fingers that didn't belong to a human. A demon, a jailor, the boy her prisoner.

There was another prisoner wasn't there?

* * *

Daylen leant against the green blade, which degraded into a simple wooden sword. He looked at the path ahead and saw instead of the Revenant, a warrior of ice. There was snow beneath them, and trees that Daylen had not seen before. Trees with faces on them, dying trees as more armoured warriors came out of hiding, their eyes glowing blue through the darkness of their helmets. Their blades glowed blue and their armour shifted in colour as they walked, white as snow, to darkness.

'How far would you go to stop the future? To change the past?'

"You killed it! THE THREE EYED CROW! YOU KILLED IT DAYLEN!"

It came down from the sky, a crow as large as a mountain. The monster screeched and brought its talons down on Daylen.

'How far would you go to stop the future?'

Templars, templars everywhere, walking beside the dwarves and the elves. No, this was not right. The Archdemon roaring, purple flames consuming Denerim, the darkspawn tearing people apart. The Vanguard laughing as he walked over Leliana, and Alistair.

"NOW THERE ARE NEW GODS!"

* * *

He rolled across the ice, sliding to a knelt position. Raising his head, Daylen looked through the blizzard and saw it, a huge mass, a shadow with three heads. Spreading out its massive wings it roared. A roar though drew Daylen's attention to his right. He looked towards the beast, a golden lion, sullen and proud. Its paws walked across the ice, melting it, leaving marks of molten gold in its wake. There was a rumble like thunder and Daylen looked behind him, a black stag, marching across the snow. Its antlers were like conduits, drawing lightning towards it, the volts cracking across the ground around it. Then there was a howl and Daylen looked towards a hilltop, there it stood, the white wolf, ice forming around it, red eyes looking directly at him, eyes that shifted to green, though with a slight purple tinge. There was a disturbance in the ice, and suddenly it cracked, ink coated tentacles grasped at Daylen's legs. He struggled, already falling through the ice, the tentacles quickly dragging him, tying around his waist and arms, slowly slithering around his neck. He fought against the tentacles, grabbing the edges of the ice and bringing his head to the surface. A bear claw slammed into the ground in front of him, a black furred bear that looked down on him. There was a hiss and Daylen felt a snake slither past his shoulder. He felt the fish swimming around his legs, saw the white birds soaring through the air. With a yell he tried to rise, only for gold roses to burst out of the ice, their vines and thorns raking across his skin.

"NEW POWERS!"

That voice, he heard it before, but at the level of a whisper.

* * *

The shadow of desire hung over Conner, whispering in his ear.

"I will save your father!"

"I will give you power!"

"I will make you a leader!"

All the child like wonder that came with being a noble son, the chance to conquer, to live a glorious life. But there was also the strongest desire of all, what any loving son, noble or common would want to do. Keeping one's father alive was in itself a good intention. But the price? Every death made sense to Daylen now, Redcliffe for Conner's father. Souls to keep him alive, and bodies for an army that Desire could use through its chosen host. Hope seemed lost, perhaps there was nothing else to but kill the boy.

'Kill the boy, so that the man may rise.'

He was on his knees, back in the fade, the Revenant standing over him. Daylen spread his arms apart, conjuring a bubble of energy that the Revenant slammed its sword into. The Revenant continued the assault, cutting through a wall Daylen made and then shaking Daylen's arm with a strike to a shield he conjured on it. Stumbling back, Daylen summoned fire and lightning, hitting the arms of the Revenant with both elements. It flinched with pain, limbs burning from both. Following through with his assault, Daylen created a lance of ice and drove it through the Revenant's eye. But astonishingly, the demon didn't die. With a swing of its arm, it batted Daylen aside and sent him flying into the wall. And through that wall he crashed.

* * *

The smell of fresh cooking stung his nostrils, he rose from where he lay and looked upon the inside of a house. Children rushed past him, and Daylen looked towards a blonde haired man, reading a book to a little girl. A woman with a close resemblance to the man stood at a pot, stirring the contents, whilst also checking a clay oven. The young man smiled, bouncing the boy on his knee and looking towards Daylen. His smile grew brighter and he motioned his hand for him to come over. He looked truly happy, a contrast to when he told Daylen about his sister, about the locket. The locket, Daylen widened his eyes in realisation.

It had been repaired, one small piece at a time. Clearly the Arl was no expert on crafting, but he had done his best. A crack remained across it, and by simply touching it Daylen knew that the Arl cared greatly for Alistair. His friend and fellow Warden, his friend, Daylen didn't think he would use the term after leaving the tower. He had another friend, one he considered a brother, but...

He crossed his arms together, covering his front with a mana shield just at the right time. The Revenant thrust its sword against the shield, throwing Daylen back. Shifting in midair, Daylen managed to land on his feet and with a swing of his arm, covered the Revenant's shield in flames. Daylen's hand shook and he gripped his head, letting out a yell of anger.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!"

He took a step forward, and again he was in snow, tilting his head back to avoid the Revenant's sword. A wrath demon slithered towards him and he dived out of the path of its claw. Daylen rolled, and then split his legs apart, avoiding a Hurlock axe. He grabbed the sides of the Hurlock's head, using life drain on it to reduce the creature's skin to bone. Then he immediately ducked underneath the swing of an Undead sword. He thrust his hand at the undead soldier's rib cage, shattering the monster with a rock fist. The Revenant suddenly appeared behind Daylen, swinging its sword downwards. Daylen felt the blade drag across his back, causing him to scream.

* * *

Westeros-Beyond the wall

Ash, that was what the great forest had been reduced to, what the home of the three eyed crow had been reduced to. Yet the power still remained, and it was power that the elves of the forest sought. Power and revenge, against he who had tried to destroy the knowledge of the past. He whom had killed the three eyed crow. So the elves chanted and accessed the magic that lingered in this place. The children of the forest had left, incapable of pursuing the path that the elves had sought. So the elves recklessly spilt their blood as catalysts for the magic, giving themselves to the power beyond that of a green seer. To access the past, present and future, to break their hated human enemy. Unbeknownst to the true enemy, the others watching in the dark.

* * *

He huffed, breathing heavily, falling to his knees. Raising his head, he looked towards a village, smelling the salt air. There was shouting in the distance and the sounds of battle. Daylen moved towards it, still feeling a pain in his back. He kept on moving until he reached the source of the sounds.

"A knight is sworn to valour!"

Daylen widened his eyes as he reached the fighting, a dark haired man in black mail and red armour stood, fighting men with stag and wolf sigils on their chests. They fell one by one to the cross spear the man wielded, a spear that Daylen remembered seeing in the Amell estate before he was taken to Ferelden.

"His heart knows only virtue," the man said as he protected the villagers.

"His blade defends the helpless," he tapped his spear against the ground, causing runes across the shaft and blade to glow.

"His might upholds the weak!"

The man twirled the spear over his head.

"His wrath undoes the wicked!"

Finally the spear was set alight, glowing with fire around even the shaft. But the knight was immune to the flame, holding it in front of him. Daylen looked towards the knight alongside the villagers he protected, seeing his face, but shaking his head in denial.

'It can't be,' Daylen thought.

"WHO DARES!" one of the stag soldiers yelled.

"Damion Amell, and if you want to take more than two silver coins today, come and try. And if you act on your lord's approval, or their order, then let them be the ones to try. For I am a knight, and I will uphold my oath!"

Daylen stood in awe as his uncle charged towards the hundred men seeking the rob the village. With a jump, the man swung his father's spear, throwing back three men with a single swing. He shifted his feet, avoiding the spears of his opponents and striking back with his own. An overhead slash, a thrust, a sharp kick and punch. Watching his uncle fight reminded Daylen of the days he saw his grandfather practice, Damion was truly his father's son, not just some failed smuggler but a true warrior. He deflected several weapon strikes at once and slashed his attackers. A spear managed to scratch Damion's cheek and he tilted his head to the side to dodge a few more. Four men thrust their spears, only for Damion to tilt his head again, the spears getting trapped together. He moved underneath the spears and hit the four men with the shaft of his spear. They stumbled back and he slashed them across their throats.

"This is war, this is our right, what the Ironborn intended to do to our homes," one of the bigger soldiers said, swinging his axe at Damion.

Another managed to hit Damion's chest plate with his sword, whilst a crossbow bolt hit Damion's shoulder. Daylen widened his eyes, seeing that his family was vulnerable. But this was a moment in the past, a moment that had already happened. This must have been the day his uncle died, remembered as a man who protected innocents from soldiers. With a yell, Daylen broke off into a run. He drew his dagger from his waist and brandished his shield. Time seemed to slow down as Damion and Daylen's eyes met. The son of Fausten Amell gasped as the young stranger punched one of the men about to attack him. Daylen dragged the sharp edge of his shield through the throat of one of the Baratheon soldiers, and then slashed a Stark soldier with his dagger. He stood close to his uncle, holding dagger and shield at the ready. Damion looked at the young man curiously, seeing the wildness of his hair, the tone of his skin, minus his burns. When Daylen looked towards him, both his eyes red, the knight widened his eyes. Eyes that shined with tears of realisation. Many of the Baratheon and Stark men charged towards the pair. Daylen ducked as Damion swung his spear around, an aura surrounding the weapon, making it appear gigantic for a moment. In that moment, Damion released a shockwave that threw several of the men back. Daylen dragged his dagger across the ground splitting a man's spear apart and slashing him across the face. He grabbed the spear tip before it hit the ground, driving through another man's mouth, whilst Damion stabbed another man behind him. Both punched a man into his friends, leaving them vulnerable to a wide slash from Damion's spear. Daylen stabbed a man though the armpit, and then slashed another across the throat with his shield.

"Good form Daylen," Damion said.

The Baratheon and Stark men began to back away from the Amells, fearful, knowing full well they would never defeat them in hand to hand. They ran when Damion tapped his spear against the floor, a confident and satisfied grin on his face. Once the men were out of sight, Damion stabbed the spear into the ground and turned fully to Daylen. The mage sheathed his dagger, but still kept his eyes on Damion.

"Strange things are happening, I'm not really here," he said.

"You could be right, this could just be the fade, maybe I'm just a spirit that thinks he's Damion, reliving a glorious battle," Damion stated.

He placed his hands on Daylen's shoulders, chuckling.

"Taller than me and father I see, I don't know what magic is at work here, but I'm glad I've gotten to see you," he explained.

"How do you know I'm truly Daylen?"

"The eyes, the tan, even with the burns and scars and your hair, and how you didn't hesitate to join the fight," Damion said.

Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around Daylen's back and hugged him.

"You truly are as I imagined you would be, tell me, have you become a hero yet?" Damion asked.

"I...I don't know, I don't think so," Daylen said.

He slowly raised his arms, touching the small of Damion's back for a moment. Then he backed away and looked around them.

"These are the Iron islands, these aren't Free March beaches so the Fade didn't make it from my memory," he said.

Damion again laughed.

"So you became a serious one, that's good, your brothers and sister would need a sensible voice," he said.

"I can't join them, besides to the people of Westeros I'd just be a bastard, if I even am her natural son and not just some found child," Daylen said.

"Daylen, I don't know the truth of it, as sad as it sounds I don't actually know whether my sister gave birth to you or just found you in the ruins of the fire that day. What I do know is that she loves you with all her heart as she does all her children. Why should being a bastard or adopted diminish you being her son, or their brother? And if you're worried about what people in Westeros think...fuck them!" Damion explained, smiling as Daylen's lip curved slightly. "I knew there was a smile in there, you should try it more often, the women would love it."

"This could just be a lie," Daylen muttered.

"A beautiful lie, a gift from the maker," Damion said and Daylen groaned.

Damion widened his eyes, and Daylen looked at his hand, it had begun to fade. Suddenly, an arrow burst through Damion's shoulder.

"NO!" Daylen yelled.

Another hit Damion's elbow, whilst a couple more bounced off of his armour. He grit his teeth together, before smiling at Daylen.

"This truly was a gift," he said as he turned.

He grabbed the spear and began to run, Daylen's body fading as the mage tried to reach out for him.

"UNCLE DAMION!" Daylen screamed, seeing more arrows strike his uncle.

"Become a hero, my nephew, pride of the Amells!" Damion's voice seemed to echo as Daylen disappeared.

Damion yelled, running like a true warrior through a storm of arrows. When his enemies fell, he leant on his spear, arrows sticking out of his gut. He looked up at the sky with a satisfied smile.

'Our future sister, father, our future truly is safe,' he thought before falling to the ground.

* * *

Pain, he was in pain, yet, Daylen was drawn to another. Drawn to a blonde haired elf, with a tattoo on the side of his face. Wait, he remembered this elf, he remembered the long road, the woman who called out for help. Yet another scar added to his arm, from the assassin's blade. Zevran Araini, the easiest interrogation there was. He confirmed that it was Howe who hired the Antivan crows, Zevran included to kill Daylen and Alistair. After the confession, Daylen had Zevran join them, though he kept his blades away from him during the journey to the tower.

The tower, yes!

No, Daylen's eyes were drawn to Zevran, his body being stretched on some kind of device. The man was doing his best not to scream, to make it seem as if he was enjoying it. This must have been one of his trials as an Antivan crow. It was a trial he looked desperate to pass, and from the brief conversation they had, Daylen was able to discern that Zevran had had little choice in becoming an assassin. To be chosen for him had been a matter of life and death The gears of the device turned and Daylen heard Zevran's flesh stretch, pain, that was Zevran's desire. But such pain was wrong, such a dream was wrong.

And yet Daylen wondered, if his own dream was really so right?

* * *

He looked at the back of his younger self, and his grandfather, the pair of them looking up at the stars.

"Then I'll do it for you," the boy said, looking at his grandfather.

"I'm still young, and I'll be young for a long time, which means I'll still have dreams. So I'll become a hero, the hero you wanted to be."

'The dream sounded so beautiful at the time, how great would it have been to live your life that way? To have saved others in your life, but I realised the same thing you did grandfather. That you can't save everyone,' he remembered them, those he could not save.

Daveth, who choked on the poison of the Blight during his joining. Jory, whom Duncan killed to protect the Warden's secrets. Duncan and King Cailan, both killed by the darkspawn in a battle Daylen was absent from. Amalia, a girl that Daylen promised to save but failed to. Murdock, mayor of Redcliffe whom trusted Daylen with the village. Lloyd, ripped open by the undead and finished off by Bella.

"Neria," Daylen whispered.

He gripped his chest, seeing the red hair and ears of a woman he loved. Her smile, her kiss on his lips.

And there was another, another whom died right in front of him. One who he couldn't save, a resident of the tower that he was seeking to save.

"I've always thought that we should become isolationists, go off to an island somewhere and make our own colony!"

"I suppose that's one way to live, but mages don't always produce children with magic in them, you have to account for the possibility of that prejudice starting. Plus there still needs to be laws and requirements for us."

They stood in the library, him and the older mage boy. Daylen was leant against the book case, arms crossed and smiling as Niall read a book.

"Well obviously we'd need a system in place to teach mages, and protect citizens who don't develop magic," Niall said. "A series of schools and laws, not granting special protection of course...I suppose we would need a group of templars."

"Well that isn't to say they would have the exact same methods, personally I wouldn't have them under the control of the Chantry, then again I have a biased view point when it comes to the Chantry having a military force," Daylen explained.

"Because you don't like the chantry?" Niall asked.

"I don't like the chantry true, but I don't any religious organisation should have a military force, they can't truly call themselves a religion if they do," Daylen said, ignoring some of the looks more passionate mages and templars gave them.

"A controversial statement, explain," Niall said.

"Religion is about faith, faith is a belief, something that is maintained through continued belief. It ruins the point of faith if a church is able to enforce its beliefs on others through military force," Daylen explained.

Niall nodded his head slowly, a smile crossing his face.

Then he saw Niall's body, sprawled out on the floor, the abomination above him. The abomination, the demon of Sloth whom forced Daylen and his companions into this dream.

* * *

Shale, trapped as a statue forever. Morrigan, yelling at her mother. The white haired woman, the mage, Wynn, she was giving into despair. Looking at the faces of mages she had saved, thinking about those she still had yet to save. Sten, residing with his fallen comrades. Those whom the darkspawn had killed, those whom Sten led and could not save.

And when Daylen passed through the dreams, he came upon another. A red haired dwarf, insulted by his peers, drinking and being comfortable with being called a drunk. Daylen felt he knew this dwarf, or perhaps he had yet to know him. Something was being done to him, done to time. He remembered the lessons on Dreamers, Tevinter mages whom tormented their enemies through the fade. It felt like torment to Daylen, yet his companions were being given everything they wanted.

* * *

Westeros-King's Landing

"From the past, to the future, to the dreams of that day, he was shifted, thrown from one end to another. The mage of the grey order knew that his life was being threatened, that the longer he remained in those places, the greater his chance of death. But worse, the more likely he was to fail in his mission," Aristanna explained.

She told the story with the same passion and delivery the children loved. Tommen and Myrcella were bright eyed, watching in wonder. But filling out the room, sitting between Tommen and Myrcella, eyes wide and jaw lowered in awe was another whom had been drawn to Aristanna's voice and the tale she weaved. For that night, King Robert Baratheon was spending more time listening than drinking, the thought of seducing Aristanna left his mind completely. Cersei sat in the far corner of the room, a goblet of wine in her hand remained full and she listened.

"He was in a place of infinite possibilities, a place no human was supposed to be. But though he would deny it, he was no ordinary man. For only the extraordinary could navigate the fading realm as he did, the extraordinary or the lost. But he was not lost yet, battered and tired, he turned himself into a mouse to escape the pursuing demons. The mage of the grey order bided his time and searched both the fading realm, and within himself for the power to free his companions," she explained.

"What about the hound, what happened to him?" Myrcella asked.

"Yes, what about the dog?" the king added, biting his nails in anticipation.

"The hounds dream was an eternity of belly rubs and biscuits. But, upon seeing his master, he rose up and ran at him. The hound leapt into the arms of the mage, pushing him onto the floor, licking his face and crying, for it felt like an eternity since they last met!"

* * *

"Alpha," Daylen whispered.

He stroked the Mabari's fur, feeling the tongue on his cheek.

"Oh boy, you ran away from your dream for me," he said and Alpha barked in agreement.

Daylen rested his head back, looking at the shift from air to tower ceiling.

"The Blight, the tower, one little boy, so many things to do. I can't, damn it, damn it, why? Why can't I save everyone? All this power, all this power and yet...I can't do it, my uncle, my grandfather, my friends, one child and the only home I've ever known...DAMN IT!" he screamed.

He was crying, even as he got onto his knees. Alpha whined, pushing his nose against Daylen's face.

"I can't get it out of my mind, that girl, her father and now Conner, the children in the tower, their parents. Everything could go wrong, the templars could kill them all. We might end up having to kill Conner, I keep imagining that poor woman crying, begging us not to take her boy from her. There's so much I can get wrong, why me? This shouldn't be my life."

He looked down into a puddle, gasping at what he saw. What he saw with just one eye, the right was slashed and burned just like part of his face and arm.

"Look at you, you don't look like a hero," he muttered. "It should have been a Dalish elf, or a noble, a dwarf, or a different mage altogether!"

Alpha wined again, pushing his head against Daylen's.

"You can't call yourself a hero, if you haven't endured all, and then stood back up again."

That voice, where had it come from? Daylen set his feet into a crouch and rested his arms on his knees. He looked up at a hand that was offered to him.

"You can accept help, or you can get up on your own," the voice said.

Daylen rose, shoulders trembling as he stood.

"You spoke to them, not just to develop bonds with them, but to learn about them, to make up for your weaknesses. You knew you could never become an expert, but if you learnt just enough from each of your companions then it would make up for your other flaws. When you stop believing in yourself, they'll continue to believe in you, just as I believe, you've come this far Daylen so don't stop now," the speaker revealed his face, Niall.

The young man smiled as he patted Daylen's shoulder.

"Conner, we came here not just for the mages but for him, and Uldred," Daylen snarled. "Uldred's finally lost his mind, he's thrown our home into chaos. He must be stopped, he has to be stopped, we have to save Irving and all the other mages. I won't, I WON'T STOP!"

He yelled, darkness enveloping him. Light shot out of the darkness, and beyond the wall of Westeros, the elf mages screamed as they were thrown out of the fade. On the field of snow, Daylen stood, the lion, the wolf, all of the luminous creatures stood by his side as they faced the three headed dragon. In the Chantry, the red haired priestess raised her head from her prayer. In the cottage, the knight held his nephews, but his eyes were drawn to the door. In the tower, the healer looked away from the bodies beneath her. On the hilltop, the stone soldier began to slowly move. In the fields, the Sten stood up, away from his comrades. In the torture chamber, the elf struggled against his bonds. The witch of the wilds huffed as she followed a light. And the dwarf raised his head from his pint, awakening in his real world.

"You had a vision right? There is still things for you to do!"

"You need to find your real family, not give in to a dream!"

"There are still people alive, people you can still save!"

"Your comrades are gone, there is still a task for you to complete as well!"

"You were a crow, now you're free to make your own choice!"

"WAKE UP!"

"You slagged off the tower, well here you are stuck in a dream, PROVE YOU'RE BETTER BITCH!"

The demon of Sloth was thrown back in fear as the light shined in his world. Each of the dreaming elf mages saw him, the shadow surrounded by light, eyes glowing with a fiery slit across his right eye. Then one by one his companions appeared beside him.

* * *

King's landing

"'You made a dangerous enemy demon, by toying with my mind,' said the wild witch," Aristanna said.

"'How did I get here? What happened to all those lucious wood nymphs?' the elf assassin jested."

"'Ah, it has found its way back to me, excellent, now it can watch me pop this demon's head like an overripe grape, yes' the stone soldier said gleefully."

"'I am here and I have had enough of cages, it is time to finish this,' said the giant."

"'Oh here I am, and there you are! You just disappeared, well no matter,' the knight shrugged his shoulders."

"'You tried to keep us apart, you led us from each other because you fear us. Don't you?' the priestess asked."

"'You will not hold us demon, we found each other in this place and you cannot stand against us,' declared the healer."

Myrcella and Tommen smiled in joy, whilst Robert was leaning forward and laughing.

"Oh I know what's going to happen, that demon's going to have his head smashed in," he said.

"The demon called forth its forces to fight the mage of the grey order. And with a motion of his hand, the mage gave the unspoken command for his companions to charge. They fought as the mage and demon clashed, the light the mage wielded turning into his blue flames. With sword, arrows and magic the companions fought alongside their leader, and emerged victorious, the mage of the grey order consumed the demon in his furious flames," Aristanna told the story and the children cheered for the hero's victory.

She took out her flute and began to play a tune of blissful happiness. But as the tune shifted to darker tones, Cersei was the first to realise the hero's victory had not come without sacrifice.

* * *

Daylen looked at his hands, consumed by the darkness. He had not taken the time to look at his form during his resurrection. Then he looked to his companions, Zevran had a grin and a nod of approval, Leliana was smiling. Alistair was taken aback, eyes filled with awe. Sten had his head low in respect, and Wynn was looking at him with understanding. Morrigan's expression was filled with surprise, though she tilted her head somewhat. Daylen recognised the flirtatious look in her eyes. One by one they disappeared, to return to their world. There was a light behind Daylen and he turned to see Niall.

"Incredible, maker I never believed that one could draw power from magic like that. But it is a dangerous magic, don't lose yourself in it Daylen," he said.

"Niall, I'm sorry I..."

"Don't say that you couldn't save me, because you have Daylen. My mother always said that I was destined for greatness, maybe it's possible to still do something great. You gave me hope for that Daylen, so don't stop," Niall explained.

"I'm still not certain, but thank you my friend," Daylen said.

Niall gasped for a moment, a tear falling down his face.

"Oh, I'm glad you consider me as such, go Daylen, go back and save what you can," Niall said.

Daylen nodded his head, the darkness fading to reveal his human form. He left the Fade like a ghost disappearing, and Niall smiled with a content expression. A light shined behind him and Niall looked over his shoulder. An armoured man stood there, a red haired elf girl behind him.

"Come Niall," Damion offered the mage his hand. "Let us go and find more of the lost."

"Oh Daylen, it seems I haven't lost my chance to go on an adventure yet," Niall smiled as he took the knight's hand.

* * *

King's landing

"And that is the end, for now," Aristanna said, putting down her flute.

"Oh, but we want to hear how he defeated the purple mage," Tommen said.

"Yes woman, continue, YOUR KING COMMANDS IT!" Robert yelled.

Cersei and Barristan sighed, even when he wasn't drunk, the king could bellow.

"Perhaps I can speak of a bit more. The grey mage continued his trek up the tower, all the while haunted by a final thought, a sudden remembrance of what had occurred in the dungeons of the castle on the cliff. It was in those dungeons that the grey mage met a friend, his betrayer, and from what others told him, the one who perhaps orchestrated the creation of the army of bones," Aristanna explained and those listening gasped in shock.

"The necromancer was his own friend, how awful," Myrcella said.

"Traitors should be executed, I bet the grey mage gave that traitor what he deserved," Robert said.

"And that was what haunted the grey mage, he wondered if he truly was a hero, if he truly was a good person. Because the choice he made in that dungeon haunted him and would continue to haunt him for some time. This man whom lied to him, this man who had triggered such suffering, was one that he let go!"

**"Just go Jowan, get out of my sight, your help is the last thing this place needs. Consider this the last act of a friend and pray we never meet again, GET OUT! GO!"**

Next Chapter 13: The Amell handmaiden

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter.

So yeah, Daylen does do some things people might not agree with, and it haunts him. And he's not a hundred percent confident in the path he's taking, but its a path he knows that he needs to take.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A Song of Ice and Fire

After some time on the spin off, here I am back on the original.

* * *

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 13: The Amell handmaiden

Another duel, another imagined dishonour. If Chimeron believed in the Maker, he would have sighed 'Maker, these people are pathetic'. Some River lord attempted to rape a girl, Chimeron reported him (just to maintain the appearance of course) and his father protected him. Rather than face Chimeron himself, he appointed a champion, Roderick Caldwell. Again Chimeron fought a man in the dirt, heavy armour clashing. It was a spectacular battle, and he received a scar across his cheek when his helmet was knocked off. Ultimately though Roderick was brought down by a knife to his knee. Chimeron then slid his knife through the visor of the man's helmet, dragging it across his eyes. He wanted to imagine it was the noble's son. There were two types of bad 'lovers' that Chimeron hated, those whom paid for it, and the rapists whom Chimeron despised. When he slept that night, he imagined some accident befalling the noble son. Omega had spat the rapists balls out before ripping into his throat. Chimeron stood and looked at the emblem on his shield. The girl had been grateful, her father even more so. The man was an artist and designed the Sigil that Chimeron would bear on his shield.

A black chimera, gold of mane, but the snake somewhat resembled a dragon and the goat's horns more a stags. Chimeron grinned, wondering if the subtlety would be lost on these people. He looked at his map, wondering which king of old he would draw into his power today. Of course, he still had plans for the West and House Lannister's ghosts. For now though, he still needed to work on getting prestige, and what better way to do that than by being the good knight. House Frey was celebrating yet another wedding, Walder's second cousin once removed or something along those lines.

'Who can keep up with that man's libido, in fact who gives a flying fuck about the Freys anyway?' he huffed.

The Freys hosted a tournament in celebration of the occasion. Riverland lord Edmure Tully was attending, but not his father or uncle, the Blackfish. Edmure Tully had the look of a good lord, fine cut moustache and red hair. He certainly wasn't oafish as Chimeron had often heard, a bit overzealous maybe. The man had gotten into a fight with one of Frey's bastards, whom ironically commented on Catelyn Stark and the legitimacy of her children, considering the presence of the Stark bastard.

'That reminds me, will have to visit the Starks at some point, maybe after my plans for the West are over,' Chimeron thought.

He had gotten some coin from his deeds (and some more evil acts, plus what his companions were doing). So he used those to get a hold of what he needed. First was a horse, Chimeron was no expert, but he wouldn't let anyone swindle him. He based his choice on leg muscle and weight, something that could sprint when commanded and ride for a day at a time. The horse would mainly be so he could enter the joust, and every knight needed a good horse. He probably wouldn't keep it for long. The breeder gave him a brown haired horse with black mane, he threw in a saddle when Chimeron helped him get money back from a butcher who owed him. Then there was the lance, Chimeron bought three. With the rest of his daily budget he bought some salted pork, a skin of wine and milk for Omega. He had set up camp underneath an apple tree, near a lake, protein and fruit were covered for his diet, and not many thieves were tempted to try their luck at stealing what Omega guarded.

"Good girl," he scratched the Direcat's maw, throwing a piece of pork down her mouth.

She lapped up milk he had put onto a bit of stone, a make shift dish for her. As she enjoyed herself, Chimeron stretched his arms and made his way to the lake. It was an impressive sight, he wasn't above enjoying silent moments before the storm. He appreciated beauty of all kind, there were some gems amongst the Freys, even those considered the ugliest had their appeal. Not that he wanted such a thing, an emotionless marriage where neither the equal of the other. Another reason why he found people so pathetic.

'Still, over the past few weeks, I've found some appeal to helping people. The praise they give afterwards true, but the mere act of it as well. I did what no other would do for them, what those lords and ladies could do, but refuse to do. Because it means parting with just a bit of their power, it means leaving themselves vulnerable, and of course they can't afford to be vulnerable can they? Weaklings, they have forgotten what it means to be strong,' Chimeron thought.

He sat at the bank of the lake, arms resting on his knees. There was a disturbance in the water, near one of the bushes sticking out of it. Chimeron looked across the lake and saw a pair of shoes and part of a dress. He shook his head and grinned, looking into the water.

"Hmmm, it seems there is a lady of the lake in this one, what wonders I find," he said.

She emerged from the green, her under dress and red hair soaked by the water. A smile gradually made its way across her mouth.

"And it appears I have found a knight in the hedge, what wonders I find," she said.

"So tell me, what does the lady of the lake offer the knight whom finds her?" Chimeron asked.

"Well there doesn't appear to be a sword hiding underneath here, a pot maybe," the young lady said and Chimeron chuckled.

"I might have need of a pot actually, would the lady of the lake bring it to me?"

She slowly dipped her head under, disappearing into the water. Chimeron leant across the edge, looking for her in the muck. He moved back slightly when a hand emerged, holding a clay pot. Chimeron grabbed the pot, looking at her hand for a moment. Her skin casted the illusion of being delicate, but he could see the scratches and old scarring that came from a rough upbringing, an upbringing on the streets. This was no high born girl, though she put the accent on rather well. Finally taking the pot from her grip, he focused his vision on the water. He expected her to come up, but there was no trace of her. Suddenly, a stone landed in the lake, creating ripples and getting his hair wet. He looked across the lake and saw the woman putting on her dress.

"Can I get the lady of the lakes name?" he asked.

"Perhaps, if the hedge knight can give his," she said.

"Come to the tourney and find out," Chimeron shrugged his shoulders and watched her leave.

He found her attractive, not just in temperament but looks too. She was no story book beauty, but a beauty forged by hardship and he found that all the more appealing. Not that he would have time for something beyond a mere flirtation. Her red hair invoked memories of another red head.

Once, the mages of the tower knew him as Leo. A polite boy to his teachers, always seeking knowledge. He didn't make a great deal of friends though, some found his successes threatening. Others dismissed him as an arrogant suck up, seeking to advance in the tower. But from the moment he arrived at the tower, his goal had been to improve his magic and use the Harrowing to send his consciousness into the fade. There he would form a pact with a demon, not just a simple possession, but an agreement. The Chimera often haunted his dreams now, leading him to adopt it as his sigil and his name. At the tower there were only really two people who caught his eye, two who drew his hatred.

Neria Surana, an elf, a beauty and noted to be a fantastic healer and the best apprentice of the spirit and creation magic trees. Red haired, 'kissed by fire' as he heard it sometimes said. She was close friends and more with the second person to draw Leo's ire. Daylen Amell, the best mage in the tower to practice the Primal style, in particular his mastery of the fire tree. It was said once that during practice with Irving, Daylen's flames took on a blue colour briefly. When Leo formed his contract with his pride, he attempted to kill Daylen. He wanted one of his first murders to be someone he hated, so that in a way he was proving himself the stronger one.

But Surana did something incredible, she took her life force and transferred it to Daylen, effectively healing him from death. It cost the girl her life, but Daylen had returned and attacked Leo relentlessly. Fighting Daylen had been the greatest rush of his life, the moment in his life he first feared dying. And the moment when he knew what he wanted to do with his life. Chimeron remembered that as he made his way to the tourney grounds. He saw the banners of great houses fluttering in the wind. His gaze was drawn to the Amell symbol on a red flag, one of their silver armoured guards was holding it. Behind him rode a smiling man in brown armour, Sir Darius, veteran jouster and friend of Fausten Amell. Chimeron suspected that that man would be the Amell champion, for the joust at least. Coming up behind Darius, Chimeron finally saw Revka Amell. The one handed woman, when he had heard the story of how she had reduced the royal family to silence by cutting off her own hand, Chimeron thought two things.

'Definitely my rival's mother!'

'I think I've had my first crush!'

He grinned, the woman rode confidently despite one hand. She also had her head held high, this was not a woman who felt shame, instead emanating pride in her expressions and movement. Indeed, Chimeron saw Revka Amell as a woman worth respecting. Some noble ladies had a collection of hand maidens, Revka had only one. The lady of the lake, clothes dry and hair tied into a knot behind her. Leo looked at her and their eyes met briefly, he found himself smiling at her, raising his hand to wave. He lowered his hand however when he saw the golden lion on the red field. The flag fluttered, held by a Lannister guard in red and gold armour. Leo looked closer at the man between the guards. Bald headed, but had a blonde beard running across his cheeks, side burns and chin. He dressed in a red and black doublet, his cloak held together by a gold coin with a lion on it. His eyes and expression seemed to regard most of the people around him, analysing them with a critical eye.

'So, that's the old lion, Tywin Lannister,' the young knight's hands trembled for a moment.

Then he chided himself, for thinking he would meet some kind of monster or demon, when the most horrifying thing about Tywin Lannister was that he was just a man. The people muttered amongst themselves as the Lannister champion came riding up behind Tywin, fully clad in red and gold armour, his face covered by a full plate helm. What made people quiver was the sheer size of the man. This man must have been taller than most Qunari Kossith, and they could be tall. His hands were massive, looking as if they could crush skulls. The poor horse beneath him seemed to tremble from the sheer weight of the man. Even Leo felt his leg shake out of fear, such an opponent would push him. But if he brought that giant down in either the melee or the joust, then he would earn respect amongst the people here.

He couldn't wait to get into the fight.

* * *

The king would not be coming today, and Revka was thankful for that. She could already see several cheating assholes seeking to seduce serving girls and handmaidens, she didn't want the loudest of them here. Watching Walder Frey grip the arse cheeks of some of the girls pissed her off. She didn't tolerate it with the Amell staff, guest rights worked two ways and Frey always forgot that. Gifts were given to the happy couple and as the night truly began, the drinking kicked off with young men challenging one another to duels and fights. She saw two Lannister banner men going at it with two Tyrell and Tully banner men.

"The bluster of youth," Revka muttered as Tywin walked to her table.

"I would not know it," the Lannister leader said, looking with half interest at the boys fighting.

"You were young once too my lord," she said, pouring him a cup of wine.

Tywin sat and sipped the wine, looking at the Amell handmaiden dancing with a squire from the Stormlands.

"I haven't been young in a long time, and one could say the same of you, your own children have grown and flown away from the nest in each their own way," Tywin explained.

"How poetically put Lord Tywin, have you perhaps decided to compose a book of ballads?" Revka asked and Tywin huffed, as close to a laugh as one could get with him.

"From what I've heard your niece is more the poet, much to the delight of my grandchildren," he said.

"Talent should be encouraged, no matter what they look like," Revka said.

She looked Tywin in the eye, both of them hard faced, not quite glaring at one another but neither smiling or laughing either. Tywin knew Revka had insulted him, thrown some veiled disapproval of how he treated Tyrion. But he didn't rise to it or demand any form of elaboration.

"You've taken a handmaiden," he said, instead changing the subject.

"Kira, sweet girl, shit spy," Revka said.

"You believe she is spying on you?" Tywin asked.

"You pay your servants well Tywin, as do we, but payment can only take us so far. Kira tells people what I want her to tell them, as do I suspect the people you discover spying on you," she explained.

"Why waste something when you can use it?"

"Exactly, and she's a good girl trying to get by, I don't begrudge her that," Revka said.

She sipped her wine and looked to the 'noble' knights. Dontos Hollard had been drinking, and many of his fellow knights placed food on the unconscious man's belly, placing wagers on what would balance. In the corner, Rupert Brax was speaking with his nephews Tytos and Robert, the three related to the Frey's through marriage. They were probably discussing a strategy for the melee. Marq Piper of the Riverlands, and Rycherd Crane of the Southlands conversed with Darius. So many knights, the Brax's of course being Lannister bannermen, but only one could be considered the champion. Yet there was no sign of the giant.

"Lady Amell," Tywin's voice suddenly snapped her out of her observations.

"Yes Lord Tywin," she said.

"My sympathies over the passing of your father," Tywin said and Revka narrowed her eyes at the man.

"I must admit, it is strange to hear such a thing from you, unless you simply say it for courtesies sake," Revka said.

"It's true I never liked your father, but I respected him. I respected that though he was an idealist, he was capable of standing by his ideals, and protecting his family," Tywin explained.

"He respected you, in his way," Revka muttered.

"He hated me!"

"Of course he hated you, you're a ruthless arse after all," Revka said and Tywin raised his eyebrows at her. "You're a ruthless, hateful arsehole, but you're a smart ruthless arsehole, and you know it, it's what you want people to think of you because so long as people think of you as that, they won't defy you," Revka explained.

"People often ask whether it is better to be feared or respected they have it wrong, it is better to be feared and respected," Tywin said.

"That's what my father believed too, in that regard you were at least similar," Revka tilted her cup to Tywin and he tapped his against hers.

* * *

No drink, no fucking, and no fighting before the actual fight. Chimeron sat in the field he had earlier, rather than converse with the other hedge knights. He slept with Omega watching over him, his weak connection to the fade manipulating his dreams. The recurring dream he had was of fire and ice, and he always he saw the back of his rival. He who he was training to surpass, he who he hoped to meet again, the second part of the equation that was his dream. When Chimeron woke up, he felt a surge of grief.

Thedas had certainly had its problems, the same problems Westeros had. But Chimeron had connected with the Wonders of Thedas. The creatures waiting within the forests. He tried to form a fireball, make ice, a spark of lightning, but it was gone. Chimeron carried weapons and armour, yet he felt as if he was weak. So long as the magic suppressing magic across Westeros was active then he would never feel truly complete. He wondered what exactly was keeping him from summoning his mana, the wall? Or had the nature of magic changed because the nature of Westeros was simply different. This nation's history was as bloody, perhaps bloodier than Thedas. So were only a select few places in possession of a weakened veil? It both frustrated and fascinated Chimeron.

Closing his eyes, the young man concentrated with everything he had. Then he felt it, the surge across his fist, a storm. But it passed like lightning, though lacking the destructive power. Chimeron looked up at the stars and marvelled at the lights before he went back to sleep.

Archery never really got people's attention. But Chimeron watched, knowing the skill of an archer was just as valuable as the might of a warrior. Fighting from a distance was called cowardice by some, but then so was fighting in full plate, so really, there was no such thing as cowardly fighting. There was fighting smart, anyone who criticised the previous methods was an absolute moron in Chimeron's eyes. Archery competitions could also be participated in by the lowliest of people, one didn't have to be a knight or bear a title. A great deal of Archery contest winners were huntsmen from villagers, the kind that had to practice on rabbits, small and fast moving tactics. Boar and deer may be strong and big, but the point was that they were big. So Chimeron learned quickly that a vast majority of the best archers were low born.

'Perhaps that is why in the original tale of the good thief, he was low born, then high born fools had to change it,' Chimeron smirked.

He walked amongst the tents set up around the tourney grounds, already in his armour. Lions, unicorns, fish and birds, and bears and maids, there were so many colourful flags. Expensive looking armour, some worn by men who looked as if they deserved it. Others by men who looked as if they spent more time at a dining table than a training ground. Despite his blood, Chimeron was thankful that he had trained against opponents intent on killing him. It gave him and other hedge knights an advantage over little lords taught by men at arms that didn't want to hurt their boss's heir.

"Warrior grant me strength, maiden grant me victory, mother grant me protection," Chimeron shook his head as he passed praying knights.

'Pathetic,' he thought.

The melee ground was wide, each knight had a point they would enter from. Melee's tended to start and end quick, unless the fighters were just that good. The weak would fall first, and then the strongest group would be left. Chimeron expected people to gang up on him within the first few minutes. In the noble spectator stands, Chimeron noticed Revka sat a fair distance from Tywin Lannister, whom kept his eyes on his red armoured giant. The man was wielding a monster of a sword as well. Next to Revka, Chimeron again saw the red haired girl. She looked towards him, then promptly looked away. Low murmurs came from the other knights when they saw a fully armoured knight with a spear and short sword. Judging from the body shape, it was a woman. Chimeron smirked, he was seeing two Amells today. Dayla Amell, twin sister of Revion and a famous warrior.

'I hope you don't die in this match Amell,' Chimeron thought,.

Once the knights had put their helmets on, Walder bellowed for the melee to start. As soon as he walked out onto the field, Chimeron was met by a mace. He raised his shield, blocking the attack from Rupert Brax. As he suspected, the Brax's were working together for the melee. Dontos was the first to yield, thrown into the mud by a nameless hedge knight. Chimeron deflected Rupert's mace and parried Robert's axe. He quickly shoved Rupert into Tytos, making them both lose balance. Robert was good with the axe, he certainly wasn't losing his grip when Chimeron rattled him with a few strikes. Keeping his sword high and shield ahead, Chimeron used one for lowering the defence and the other for battering. He struck Tytos in the head so hard that the man's helmet was knocked off, quickly drawing Rupert and Robert to defend their kin. With his sword Chimeron redirected the mace into the axe, then slammed them against the dirt before kneeing Rupert in the face. He shoved Robert and then bonked the top of his helmet with his pommel.

* * *

Kira heard her mistress bellow to her daughter. Dayla was rough, not at all the dancer some imagined her fighting style to be. But she was flawless with the spear, blocking strikes, tripping her opponents. She struck Rycherd Crane's knee with the flat of her sword before punching him, moving straight into clubbing an attacker with the shaft of her spear. Kira could hear the blows from her seat, even over Revka's yells.

"HIT HIM! GO ON! PLANT HIS ARSE ON THE MUD!" Revka roared.

She was of course more focused on Dayla and Darius, whom too fought well. He had brought a few hedge knights and named knights down with his morning star and hammer. Darius turned and bowed to the applauding small folk, ever the performer. Kira looked towards the knight she met at the lake, biting her thumb as she watched the man face the Braxs. His sword was knocked aside by an attacking hedge knight. Using both his gauntlet and shield, he parried their weapons and held them at an angle pointed down. So he held back the attacks of three men, using them as shields to keep back a few other knights. In the end they barged through the Braxs. The young knight raised his arms as he stepped back, the men in front of him stumbling over one another. Taking a running start, he kicked one man across the head, then punched Rupert Brax as he stood up.

"DAYLA IF YOU LOSE TO DARIUS DON'T YOU COME TO MY ESTATE THIS MONTH! DARIUS IF YOU HOLD BACK I'LL CASTRATE YOU!" her mistress stood eagerly yelling.

Revka didn't seem bothered by the Lannister champion. A monster of a man who threw knights across the field. He had cut the arm off of one hedge knight, whilst another of his opponents must have broken something. The red giant rested his sword on his shoulder, bashing aside other knights as he fought across the field towards Dayla and Darius. Kira held a hand to her heart as the giant thrust his sword towards Dayla. Suddenly, her knight ran in, holding back the sword with his shield. Dayla and Darius momentarily turned away from their duel to see the hedge knight blocking the giant's blade.

* * *

Chimeron felt his arms scream under the weight of the giant's blade. Blocking it seemed to be a smart move at the time. He let out a yell as the blade scraped across his gauntlets. Stepping to the side, Chimeron redirected the blade to the ground. He drove his knee through the side of the giant's head and punched his knee. There was the sound of bone breaking, but the giant didn't let out so much as a scream. He swung his arm around, backhanding Chimeron. At the last moment, he crossed his arms together, using them and his shield to absorb some of the impact of the giant's blow. Even with that, he was thrown back from the force of it. There was a dent in the giant's gauntlet, clearly he cared nothing for any injuries he might sustain. He swung his sword at Darius and Dayla, forcing both of them apart. Darius attempted to bash the man with his hammer, the blow left a dent in the man's helmet, but it didn't sway him. He grabbed Darius by his hand, and the crowd went silent when they heard a sickening crunch. Darius yelled, his left hand being crushed beneath his gloves. He was dropped to the floor, flailing around in agony.

Revka stopped yelling, seeing her old friend writhing on the floor, soon passing out from the pain. Then she looked to the giant, no the monster fighting her daughter. Kira had never seen a look of fear across her mistress's face. A woman always confident, Revka now truly looked like a mother concerned for her child. She leant against the railing, gritting her teeth together with every strike Dayla was barely able to parry. She shook her head, no, her daughter would not lose, Dayla Amell could not lose. For she was the strongest in the Meadow. Dayla grinded her sword against the giant's and slashed at his breastplate, her sword scraping against the armour. She ducked and barely avoided the giant's follow up swing. He then brought the sword down on her block, forcing her to her knees. There was activity behind the giant and the crowd murmured, the hedge knight was at it again, swinging Darius hammer at him. The giant caught the blade and threw the knight on top of Dayla.

'No,' Revka thought, seeing her daughter topple to the ground.

Chimeron rose and turned, just as the giant swung his sword down again. It dragged through his helmet, and he felt a surge of pain in his left eye. Then he saw blood, it sprayed on the front of the monster's helmet as he grabbed Chimeron and threw him aside. He rolled across the dirt, blood dripping through his visor. Chimeron's hand shook, passing over the area of his eye. The fear and rage gripped him, had he been blinded in that eye? Would the wound become infected? He looked over his shoulder, barely able to make out the struggling form of Dayla Amell, she was brought to the ground again. The crowd gasped as Chimeron removed his helmet, he didn't need it further blocking his view. A vicious slash ran from his forehead, through his eye and ended at his cheek. Dropping the helm, Chimeron gripped his sword handle.

"LANNISTER!" he roared, looking towards the red champion.

He took a few steps forward as the giant turned. It, yes it, that was all Chimeron could describe it as, began to swing its sword. Chimeron drew his sword into a slash, slicing the giant's shoulder. He didn't stop there, sheathing his sword again and then shuffling his feet alongside the beast. Upon drawing his blade, he slashed the back of his opponent's knees. Sheathing and drawing again and again, he slashed the elbows, the neck, heels, fingers. Finally, the giant dropped the sword. Chimeron caught the massive blade and swung with all his strength, bellowing and crashing the sword through the side of the giant's face, completely obliterating the helmet and head. He roared, raising the sword over his head, holding it to the sky and yelling in anger. But the rage faded, and he began to fall back.

* * *

**"How appropriate!"**

He was in the ruins of the tower, what he dreamed of turning the place into. His child's body was covered by the same robes he wore during that time. There was a booming sound, the ground seemingly shaking as he grinned.

"What do you mean?" he asked, and as he regained courage he became older, the teenager he was when he killed Surana.

Then it appeared, walking around the ruins, its snake tail, goat's head and lion's maw speaking at the same time. The great beast of Pride, the Chimera.

**"Appropriate that you should lose your eye, the other spirit's speak of him you know, your rival!"**

"Wait, are you saying that Daylen too lost his eye?" Leo asked and then began to laugh. "Magnificent, destiny is matching us, brilliant," he threw his arms up in applause.

**"You keep things interesting little cub, but remember, forces outside of your control will try to stop you both. I cannot offer you power until the great magic is restored, what will you do to restore it?" **the Chimera demanded.

"Who says I have to do anything?" Leo asked, grinning.

His robes were gone, replaced with the armour of the knight he had become.

"As you said, there are forces outside my control, forces that may very well act in a way that benefits my rise. The Amells made a grave mistake when they introduced runes to Westeros, they created a race for more power. That giant, must have been the start, not even the Mountain had such endurance," Leo explained.

A grin spread across the faces of the Chimera.

**"Very good cub, it seems that you're beginning to see the plans of your enemies," **the demon said.

Leo huffed and crossed his arms together.

"Who says they have to be my enemies?"

* * *

Tywin looked down at the body of the giant. It had taken four of his men to carry the remains into his tent. He looked at the gaps in the armour, the hedge knight had noticed what Western smiths had missed. Every time he looked at the dwarves he was reminded of his failure of a son, but he now couldn't deny that employing them to design weapons and armour would benefit the family greatly. As for the monstrosity, he looked to the man in the corner of the tent, wearing a red and gold robe.

"Well, your monster failed Butcher, tell me what manner of drugs and formula did you waste, I entertained your ideas with the body, where is it?" Tywin demanded.

The man removed his hood, revealing a grey haired man, the long tail of his hair tied with a knot.

"You just looked at it," the man said dismissively.

"Don't play games with me Quentin," Tywin snarled.

"No game, reattaching the head was a simple matter, as for putting it back together, I'll just need some spare parts, hence why my demand of payment," the man said.

"Any dead body found in the West, for your odd tastes."

"Oh come now Lord Tywin, you must realise there is more to the world than what you see. Dragons did exist once, as did magic, the payment is for my experiments, which you should witness when we return to the West. Then you'll understand why you employed me, not to strengthen your men, but to bring them back," Quentin explained.

"I employed you, protected you from the faith because I believed there would be some sort of logical explanation to your experimentation on the dead, if you are truly saying that this man is..."

"Lord Tywin, secure a font of Lyrium for me, and I'll show you the power of magic," Quentin said. "The power of Necromancy, and then you'll have turned the tide in your little pissing match with the Amells!"

* * *

Leo opened his eyes, seeing a small part of a bandage had covered his face. And by his bedside he saw her, the lady from the lake. She was running a cloth over his body, cleaning the dirt from his arms. He had to grin, wondering if she would have removed his lower clothes if he didn't give the game away. She brought her face close to his and kissed his cheek.

"From my lady to you knight of the hedge," she whispered.

"What for?" he asked, his throat feeling dry.

"For saving her daughter's life, but she would grant another boom to you if desired," she said.

"I wish only one thing," he said.

'To keep my rival's family alive, so that I can see his reaction when this place inevitably takes them from him...but also...'

"To know the name of the lady in the lake!"

The girl blushed and smiled when she regained her bearings.

"Kira, my name is Kira," she said.

Leo smiled at her, he never really looked at the other women he had been with. True he could say who was beautiful, because what woman wasn't in their own way. But even partially blinded he could see, and perhaps even feel that Kira was beautiful. He gripped his side, feeling how sore it was. His entire body ached as he sat on the edge of the stretcher.

"What are you doing?" Kira asked.

"The Tourney!"

"Long over I'm afraid," a voice spoke from the tent entrance.

Leo looked up and saw Revka standing there, smirking at her blushing hand maiden. She grabbed the shirt nearby and threw it at Leo.

"Not that it isn't appealing to look at, but do cover up lad, you have been out for a few days," Revka said.

"Damn it," Leo growled.

"You lost some of your coin and armour, but you gained quite a bit of respect amongst the other Hedge Knights, toppling the Lannister giant earned you some ire from the Westerners I'm afraid," Revka explained.

"Pissing off Tywin Lannister, I don't know whether to call it a bad thing or a good thing," Leo chuckled.

"Satisfying, though not recommended, Tywin Lannister is a patient and intelligent man, but like any intelligent man he doesn't like being proven wrong. As for you, my physician told me your bones have been healing quite well, there is I'm afraid just one issue," Revka looked at Leo with sympathy in her eyes.

He touched the bandage over his eye, and lowered his head in bitter disappointment.

"As I feared, an eye at the cost of victory...oh well, I suppose I'll just have to train that much harder," Leo said.

"Impressive, but I wish I could say that it was more than just gratitude that influenced my decision to lend you my tent, I saw your eye, the colour it shifted to when your concentration broke," Revka said. "Red eyes, a unique trait!"

Leo paused, dropping his smirk and looking up at Revka with caution.

"It tells me that you were touched by magic, that you were from a place of magic, tell me lad, how have things been in Thedas whilst my family has been away?" Revka asked, smirking at the shock across Leo's face.

Next Chapter 14: Righteousness

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter. And yes, Quentin is the very same Quentin from Dragon Age 2.

The Pride Chimera I imagine to be voiced by Keith David :)

I wanted to establish that though Tywin Lannister is against the ideals that the Amell family have, he does respect their ability to back up their ideals and survive in Westeros.

Also wanted to create a parallel between Leo/Chimeron and Daylen, with both injuring one of their eyes.

Next time we go to Leo's rival as Daylen continues the battle for Conner's soul.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A Song of Ice and Fire

* * *

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 14: Righteousness

Agony, the sound of pure agony echoed through the Harrowing chamber. The senior mages had been taken, pushed to their limits by the rebels. There were holes in the wall, pillars of ice and fires in the corners of the room. And dead mages and demons, so Daylen was glad to know that his mentor had put up a fight. Irving was bound by chains of energy, other senior mages around him, similarly bound. They screamed as Uldred and his acolytes tortured them, their blood magic had given them an advantage that the senior mages hadn't trained for. Uldred gripped the cheek of one mage, grinning as the man was turned into a twisted abomination. Irving was still conscious, the only one not recoiling in pain. Daylen felt pride for his teacher, knowing that Uldred's rebellion hadn't been made easy. Niall had also defied Uldred by retrieving the litany of Adralla. Daylen opened the book and read the contents, focusing his magic through the words and the pages. Alistair and the others stepped forward, and in a burst of light, the spell activated.

The Litany of Adralla had been written by Adralla of Vyrantium, under the commission of Devine Clemence I. Adralla had dedicated her life to the academic study of blood magic, and to countering demonic summoning and mind control spells. That is where Uldred's power had been, in drawing thralls to his cause. Daylen felt the passion and dedication of Adralla flow through him, the spirits that mimicked her memory passed their energies into Daylen and he directed that power through the Harrowing chamber. The mana chains were broken, the mages freed. Irving threw his hand forward, knocking Uldred back with a force wave. The demons screeched, melting into puddle of blood and bursting into flames. Daylen felt a rush of euphoria, he knew the Litany was powerful, but he never believed it was capable of killing demons. It reminded him again of the power of magic, not just elements or entropy, but the energy itself. He smirked, watching Irving rise, his teacher would not die to the likes of Uldred.

Uldred had dressed himself in a purple robe, armoured gauntlets and boots and a customised staff. He fancied himself a warlord, leader of a new mage movement. Bulges moved over his face, quills began to form on his cheek and he glared at Daylen. The young man slammed the book shut, his eyes meeting Irving. Teacher and student didn't need to exchange words, and they certainly didn't need to hear what Uldred had to say. Of course he grinned, prepared to deliver some speech about the power of blood and how mages were a chrysalis for something greater. But in truth Daylen had heard it before, heard him rant about mage liberties. Daylen didn't believe in liberty at the expense of other's lives. He understood the want and the need to be free, but he would not condone Uldred's blood lust. Neither would Irving.

Before Uldred could utter a word, student and teacher unleashed fire from their hands. Uldred slammed his staff into the ground, his face turning into a version of a Pride demon's maw. His clawed fingertips shaped a barrier, shielding himself from the flames. Irving lifted the barrier above the flames, cancelling out the gravity around it. Daylen then released currents of electricity, and shards of ice around Uldred. When Irving restored the gravity, Uldred crashed to the floor, electricity burning the scales forming on his skin, the ice spikes pinned his right shoulder and left leg. Uldred roared in frustration.

Those of Uldred's followers not killed by the Litany's power were stunned enough to be easily finished by Daylen's companions. Leliana shot one mage through the neck with her bow, Zevran two more with his knives. Morrigan easily electrocuted two mages that tried to throw fire at her. A third tried to get her with an entropy type spell, the energy swirling around him. Suddenly, an ice spike burst through his mouth. Daylen held the makeshift spear and yanked it out of the man. He threw it towards Uldred, whom disintegrated it with a blast from his staff. Uldred formed a formation of spikes from the ground, nearly catching Sten and Leliana, both of them protected by Shale.

"I have hated you for a long time Daylen Amell," Uldred snarled, his shoulders and belly expanding as the transformation of a full Pride demon began to take place. "All I heard from Irving was praise about you, how brilliant you were, how you were so much like him when he was your age. How you could become a great mage, perhaps the greatest in the tower and I had to fucking laugh every time. Greatness in this place?" Uldred scoffed.

His staff clattered to the floor as his foot expanded. He snarled, multiple eyes aimed at Daylen. Electricity surged across his massive arm, and a whip formed. With a swing of his arm, he lashed at the mage, who rolled to the side, barely dodging the swipe. Uldred swung his arm again, but just when it was about to reach Daylen, a barrier formed around him.

"IRVING!" Uldred roared, turning to the First Enchanter.

"Stay away from my student," Irving said, defiance in his eyes.

"And my friend!"

A light shined over Irving, the smite of a Templar. Uldred yelled, Alistair stepping towards him, the light shining off of his body. He held up his sword and rushed towards the Pride demon. Daylen and Irving both used fire and ice respectively, piercing and burning Uldred's legs so he wouldn't move. Alistair jumped onto Uldred's chest, driving his sword through his belly. He dragged the sword out and stabbed underneath his breast, twisting it through his body. Daylen and Irving again used their elements to topple Uldred, leaving him vulnerable to Alistair. The former templar stabbed again and again, ripping and tearing through the abomination's flesh. He raised his sword, and Daylen enchanted it with fire, then finally Alistair imbedded the blade through Uldred's heart.

"Well, truthfully Uldred, I never much liked you either," Daylen said.

"I thought we were getting along just fine," Alistair walked off of the demon's body, sheathing his sword.

He looked over his shoulder, watching the Pride demon turn back into a broken and gutted man.

"I even thought of naming one of my children after him," he walked up to Daylen and smiled.

"The grumpy one," Daylen finished his friend's joke and they both pushed their heads together. "Thank you for helping to save him."

"Anytime, now go reunite with your teacher," Alistair patted Daylen's shoulder.

The young mage looked towards his weakened teacher. Irving smile at him, limping slightly. Daylen walked to his side, putting Irving's arm over his shoulder.

"My boy, you came back?" Irving asked.

"Well, I'm a little ashamed to say that I didn't come here for a social call, I was a little surprised old man, how'd did you let things fall apart like this?" Daylen grinned and Irving chuckled.

"You know Uldred, never thought he actually had the balls to make good on his rants," Irving said.

"I'm glad you're all right," Daylen held Irving tightly, the closest thing to a hug he and Irving would share right now.

"And I am thankful you came back my child, even if it was just to draw the mages into the fight against the Blight," Irving said and Daylen guiltily smiled, he knew the old man would figure it out.

"Greagoir was worried, they considered sending for the right, said they would stop only if they saw you," he told the First Enchanter.

"Then let us go and meet the Templars and put them at ease, alas I'll need your help to get down those steps, curse the Chantry for putting the circle in a tower," Irving chuckled and Daylen joined him.

Alistair and Leliana looked at their friend with his teacher and smiled.

'It reminds me of Duncan and myself,' he thought.

'Seeing them together like this, it reminds me of seeing a father and son!' Leliana thought.

* * *

Daylen looked at the line running through his eye, a mark to forever remind him of the danger of battle and the importance of being aware of his surroundings. He listened to the birds singing, the rustle of the leaves, the blow of the wind and the ripples in the water as fish came up. The Hinterlands were beautiful and dangerous, for miles and miles Daylen walked with his companions. They came upon refugees whom had escaped an attack on their village. Darkspawn scouts and raiding parties were becoming common place. Then they came upon sickened fields, Ferelden would face both a pandemic and a famine due to the blight. Daylen rubbed Alpha's fur, the dog trying to get his attention to play. Two days since the tower, since Greagoir cancelled the Right of Annulment. Over those two days Daylen had bonded with Morrigan by giving her a book about her mother, bonded with Leliana by giving her flowers he remembered her saying she liked, and discussed the Qun with Sten.

As barbaric as some people found it, Daylen understood the appeal that such a thing could offer. He also saw Sten's point of view on many things. No one was comfortable with who they had been born to be. Lords wanted more wealth and more power, farmers wanted to be lords and knights, and knights wanted to be heroes. It felt somewhat like Sten was insulting Daylen, though Daylen wasn't bothered by it. They both came to a sort of understanding, that wisdom could come from the Qun, or the Chant, people needed wisdom in their lives. Then there was Zevran.

Daylen titled his head to the right, grabbed Zevran's arm and knocked him to the ground!

"Impressive, you reacted just two seconds later than the last time," the elf assassin said.

"I couldn't hear where you approached from, damn it," Daylen chided himself.

"Don't feel too bad, I'm the best of the Crows after all," Zevran grinned.

"Really, you slept with one of your targets...she died by complete accident," Daylen said, his deadpan expression made Zevran drop his grin for a moment.

"Ah yes, but she still died, she was a good lay too, not my best work. There was a beauty in Antiva city, a Rivaini woman," Zevran sat beside Daylen on the hill and sighed, a far off look in her eyes. "Great skin, very athletic, she and I had quite a passionate affair. She was in an unhappy marriage."

"Did she end up falling and breaking her neck too?" Daylen asked.

"Oh no, she went on to live a very eventful life, after I killed her husband..." Zevran took note of the look of shock on Daylen's face. "It was a job from the Crows, nothing to do with her, at least I don't think so, sometimes I just got a name and nothing else."

"You don't always know who hires you?"

"Not always, I met Loghain once, if you could call it that. It was brief, I just said 'The Antivan Crows, send their regards,' and he just told me to get the job done. The business affairs of it were handled by Arl Howe," Zevran explained.

"Just out of curiosity how much was I worth?"

"Twenty five sovereigns, but that was for Alistair as well," Zevran said.

"Twelve gold coins and fifty silvers," Daylen said.

"Not that I would have seen any of that, that's without expenses, I never really covered the financial aspects of it. Listen Daylen," Zevran shifted uncomfortably. "About what you saw in the Fade..."

"It's all right, there's no judgement from me," Daylen said.

"I never thought there would be, but still, you've been a better person to me than even some of my friends in the Crows. I still feel like I need to explain myself, we're taught to take extreme measures of pain, those machines you saw were a way to test a person's ability to stand physical torture. But there were other ways, starvation, exposure to certain temperatures, I had hot coals put onto my back and my feet dipped into buckets filled with ice," Zevran explained.

"It makes sense, they were training you to endure torture so you wouldn't give away who hired you," Daylen said.

"Partly yes, but keep in mind we weren't always told who hired us. It was part of indoctrinating us into a routine, I never got used to the pain, what I did get used to was the pain stopping. Part of me began to feel grateful to the trainers," Zevran stated.

"Why did you break when we captured you though, you gave everything away," Daylen said.

"It wouldn't have been difficult for you to figure out why we attacked, besides at the time I thought you wouldn't care, bandit, assassins, they were the same thing to your strength. I've been killing people for the Crows for years, I've killed people who had no blood on them, all because they were just a name given to me. What I'm saying is I've killed truly better people than you," Zevran explained and Daylen nodded, not at all insulted. "When I was told though that you were a Grey Warden, and that there could be a Blight, well, it bothered me."

Daylen blinked in surprise, quite taken aback by Zevran's statement. Again the assassin shifted uncomfortably and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

"I'm not at all bothered by what Loghain did at Ostagar, but to kill the last hope his country may have, the Grey Wardens have been around as long as they have, and a consistent story throughout history is that the Blights ended because of their actions. I'm not so out of touch that I couldn't see the folly in that," he explained.

"So that's why you offered to come with me, even if it meant looking over your shoulder and never going home to Antiva, won't you miss it?" Daylen asked.

"Of course, it was home, as strange as it sounds, what I'll miss most is the smell of leather," Zevran said and Daylen looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Is that some kind of euphemism?" he asked.

"It may as well be, no, I lived next to a leather factory, boots, gloves, it reminded me of my earliest memory of my parents. The Dalish gloves I kept on me," Zevran muttered.

Daylen made a mental note as he stood up.

"Thank you for the trust Zevran, we'd best go back to the others or Wynn will think you tried to kill me again," he said.

When Daylen got back to the camp, he saw Sandal and Bodahn working with Levi Dryden. He was a travelling merchant, part of a shamed noble family apparently. They met him on the road from the circle, and he told Daylen about the location of a Grey Warden keep, Soldier's peak. Alistair verified it had been lost when the Grey Wardens tried to take part in politics, joining a rebel movement an age before. Daylen promised Levi help to at least analyse the keep, only after he had finished in Redcliffe. In the mean time Levi helped Bodahn and Sandal with items. Alistair had just finished having a flame rune applied to his sword, nodding to Daylen as he passed.

"At this pace we'll reach Redcliffe soon, it'll still be a wait for the circle mages though considering what they're bringing, I intend to stay in the castle and keep an eye on things," Alistair explained.

"That's where I'll be," Daylen said.

"Daylen," Alistair shook his head in dismay, sheathing his sword. "Spend time with your family there."

"You know me better than my cousins," Daylen said.

"Then get to know them, god knows you've listened to me go on about how much I want to know my sister, you should want the same thing for you and your cousins," Alistair stated and walked with Daylen to the tent Leliana had set up.

"Still not going to talk to the Hawkes are we?" she asked.

"Of course he isn't, see if you can talk sense to him Leliana," Alistair smiled.

"It isn't that I don't want to get to know them, I made a commitment to helping Conner, I need to make sure that Irving and the others can carry out their work and that there aren't anymore undead for Conner to use," Daylen explained.

"Don't you trust the protectors you helped create?" Leliana asked.

Her question surprised him, and despite her tone being harsh, she still smiled at him as she stood.

"Bevin and his sister, your cousins, all of the villagers, they became stronger that night because of you. They'll endure thanks to you Daylen, you did more than just fight for them that day," Leliana explained.

"You saved the boozie smith's daughter, I bet he's making even more weapons for the militia, then there's Bella," Alistair teased and Daylen turned away as he blushed.

"Honestly, I don't know what we would talk about," Daylen said.

"Just do what you do with us, listen to us talk about life and our point of views and just nod and say you agree...that's a great way to make friends," Zevran explained.

"I don't do that...but do you think they'd approve?"

"Just be yourself around them Day," Leliana said.

"Day?"

"Yeah, don't tell me I've lost approval," Leliana grimaced.

"No, no, it's fine, when it's us you can all just call me Day," the mage smiled softly as he spoke.

It was what Surana and Jowan would call him. It was the name of a friend and not just an acquaintance.

"So I have a pet name for you now," Zevran put his arm around Daylen's hip and grinned.

"Don't think of it as that please," Daylen groaned.

"I will never stop calling you it then!"

Alistair and Leliana both laughed, and after a moment Daylen joined them. It was a good escape from the pressure of the incoming task. And he was thankful for all three of them. When they were fully packed and continuing onwards, Daylen walked ahead with Leliana.

"You and Irving seemed very close," she said.

"Well he was my teacher," Daylen said.

"Don't be coy, you were really worried about him weren't you?"

"I was worried about everyone in the tower."

"I could tell, just like you were worried about everyone in Lothering, and everyone in Redcliffe, I knew my visions had led me to the best person," Leliana explained.

"I'm not that good a person Leliana," Daylen lowered his head as he spoke.

"Now you're just being modest, you are truly one of the kindest people I've ever met," Leliana said.

"I've tried to be, but sometimes, sometimes I wonder if I'm not just being cruel," Daylen said.

"What do you mean?" Leliana asked.

"Those people in Redcliffe, they'll still struggle, the people in Lothering, they've lost their homes. The mages in the tower, they'll still live trapped, unable to choose anything for themselves, and there will only be more restrictions on them now. If I save Connor, the only future he has is to be trapped in a tower for the rest of his life. Just like Irving, just like Wynn, just like it would have been my destiny," Daylen explained.

"So you think it's pointless to save him, then why go to all this effort then?"

"Because he has his mother and father," Daylen rushed ahead, running down the path to Redcliffe village.

He saw people repairing some of the broken huts, applying new layers of straw or hammering in wooden planks. Some were working the fields as well, replanting and sowing.

"Look it's the hero, he's come back," one of the men said.

Daylen was sprinting at that point, the praise and cheers just rushed through him. He didn't want to hear them, not whilst there was still more to do. Some of the villagers now had better armour, Scale Mail and Splint armour, heavy metal shields and some of the villagers were even using heavy chainmail gloves and boots. The materials of their weapons were also better too. Carver was sparring with some of the soldiers, Bethany not too far from him.

"Cousin," she called out.

But he ignored them, continuing on a path towards the castle. Guards at the gate opened it as he came into their sights. He ran through the courtyard, making his way through the corridors and to the throne room.

"Amell," Teagan was waiting at the door.

"Lord Teagon, what has happened when I've been gone?" Daylen asked.

"Connor was calm for the first few days, he refused to eat at first, but then he demanded more and more food, quality of meals we couldn't provide," Teagan began.

"It must be the demon acting through him," Daylen said.

"He panicked and began thrashing at one point, we thought he would break his neck because he was moving so erratically. Isolde wouldn't leave him, I was able to convince her to eat and take a rest. I entertained Connor and gave him some books, but he became spiteful at one point, even when Isolde returned from her rest. He had another episode, I fought off a few shades before Connor went into a deep sleep. He's been asleep for two days now," Teagan explained.

"Damn, the chances of the demon permanently possessing Connor increases when he sleeps, where is he now?" Daylen asked.

"In his room with Isolde," Teagan said.

"I'll need her to be out of the room in case the worst happens."

"I wouldn't try to tell her that Amell!"

"She'll be in the way, and if I end up having to..." Daylen couldn't say the words, he simply grit his teeth together and shook his head.

"Isolde is stronger than you think," Teagan said, a confident smile on his face.

"The recent danger she's faced may have hardened her a little but..."

"No, you misunderstand, Isolde has faced danger before. She was the daughter of an Orlesian governor, she became sympathetic to the rebellion and began to pass information to us," Teagan explained.

"Her father wasn't likely to turn her into the authorities, she was in no real danger," Daylen said.

"I think you underestimate how far Orlesians are prepared to go to advance in the game."

"They're still people."

"True, it was difficult for us to see them as such though, especially considering all we lost even before we rebelled. Many of us still see them as enemies, waiting to strike at us," Teagan said.

"Loghain?"

"Yes, how did you know?" Teagan asked.

"At Ostagar, he was always getting into arguments with Cailan about Orlesian reinforcements," Daylen said.

"That's sounds like Loghain."

"He must have endured so much abuse from Orlais to have developed such hatred," Daylen said.

"He was a commoner, the Orlesian nobility often did abuse their authority," Teagan said.

"Enough about Loghain, we need to focus right now on Connor, and getting him help. The mages are on their way, they'll be able to stop the demon," Daylen explained.

"Thank you Amell, you've done so much for our people," Teagan said.

"It isn't over yet," Daylen said.

Teagan took Daylen to the family quarters, where Daylen saw the Arl of Redcliffe in his bed, his nutrition clearly maintained by magic. He looked over the Arl for a moment, looking at the field that kept Eamon alive. Daylen turned away and followed Teagan to Connor's room. As they entered, a vase was thrown at the wall beside them.

**"SHUT UP STUPID WOMAN!"** a voice that wasn't Connor's yelled.

"Conner, please," Isolde pleaded, trying to hug the boy.

**"You have always been weak, always been a fool, don't touch me!" **Connor punched his mother's cheek, his eyes glowing purple as she fell to the ground.

"CONNER!" Teagan yelled.

The boy's hands glowed with entropic magic. Daylen barged in front of Teagan, deflecting a bolt cast by Connor. Then he grabbed Connor's head, using life drain to take just enough to make the boy pass out. He gently placed Conner on the bed and looked to Isolde.

"Roughly how long had the demon been projecting its voice through him?" he asked her.

"I don't know," she rubbed the bruise on her cheek.

Teagan helped her up and she leant on him for support, there were bags under her eyes and her skin was pale.

"Come Isolde, you need to rest, the circle magi are on their way," Teagan reassured her.

Daylen looked over Connor, the boy was beginning to sweat and flinch. His body language was akin to someone having a dream. Though Daylen knew in the boy's case it would be a nightmare. Soon afterwards, Daylen's companions arrived and he, Alistair and Leliana took turns to watch Connor. Zevran volunteered surprisingly, though Daylen regulated him to guarding the door. On Leliana's shift, Alistair and Daylen stood at the castle gate and waited. The blonde warden had added some mail gloves and extra padding to his Templar disguise and Daylen looked over a shoulder pad and arm armour that Irving had made before he left the Chantry.

"I'm glad you kept that, you need something better to defend your arm," Alistair said.

"You don't need to worry about me," Daylen said.

He slid his arm into the gauntlet, he replaced the grey shoulder pad with the silver armoured pad he had bought from Bodahn. It reminded Daylen of the eastern armour that he had seen his grandfather wear sometimes.

"You just seemed to take what that Templar at the tower said to heart," Alistair pointed out.

"Cullen was traumatised from what happened," Daylen said.

"You know, it's strange, most people would accuse you of being a Loyalist with that mind set," Alistair said.

"I'm no loyalist, but if you want to put a label on my mind set you could call me an Aequitarian like Wynn and Irving," Daylen said.

"That's the code of ethics isn't it? Can't say I learnt much about Magi politics as a templar. What I'm trying to say Daylen is that you're kinder than most people would be, if I'd heard that from Cullen I don't think I'd be as forgiving," Alistair explained.

"Fear can be warping, I don't think Cullen is all he said."

Alistair smiled and patted Daylen on the back.

"That's our hero!"

"I'm not a hero."

"Those people in the village would disagree," Alistair pointed past the gate. "The children at the tower would disagree, and I disagree. Try not to be so hard on yourself Daylen!"

Daylen nodded hesitantly and looked at the path ahead. He could see the caravan from the tower in the distance.

* * *

Irving set up the ritual in Connor's room, other mages prepared lyrium dust and carefully sprinkled it in a circle around Conner's bed. Wynn had put the child into a sleep, and Teagan kept Isolde aside. They couldn't afford any kind of interruption from her.

"Further examination confirmed what you told us Daylen, a Desire demon, one of the more powerful of the hierarchy," Irving stated.

"But the ritual will allow a mage to go into Connor's dream and face the demon directly within the fade," Daylen said.

"Yes, you remember this one don't you?" Irving asked, smiling as Daylen looked over the work the other mages were doing.

"I didn't have the resources necessary to carry it out, and I never actually saw it performed," he said.

"But your return was most fortunate, regardless of the reason whether it be to save this boy or recruit us into the war against the blight, the fact remains that you saved the circle lad," Irving explained.

"Yeah, now I just need to save Connor," Daylen huffed.

Irving looked at Daylen, puzzled as the Warden stepped into the circle.

"You intend to go?" Irving asked.

"I made a promise, I intend to keep it," Daylen said.

Without even needing to see his eyes, Irving knew the determination that filled his old student. The determination that was reflected in his eyes every time he failed a spell, every time he got a theory question wrong and every time people doubted him. 'Red eyed boy' they would whisper, the boy whose first conscious act of magic was blood. Irving nodded to the other mages and they joined him in the casting of the spell. Daylen closed his eyes, lifting his hands just a little bit, exhaling both his breath and some of his mana. Incense burned in the air, putting Daylen's mind into a trance like state. He focused on the fade, and on the boy in front of him. The support that the other mages gave him, acted as the stairways for his consciousness to descend into the fade. His body manifested in the fade, in Connor's dream. But it manifested in a manner he only had a vague familiarity with, his body was a shadow surrounded by light, yellow energy surging through his eyes. He appeared before wisps and shades, their forms seemingly shocked before they reacted violently. Daylen raised his hands, squeezed his fists together and opened them as he spread his arms in a wide arc. There was a surge of energy, and the demons were burned until they disappeared.

He broke off into a run through the corridors of the Redcliffe dreamscape. Nightmares manifested before him, the embodiment of Connor's fears, his armour wrapped in armour, skin deathly pale, hair burning from the flames of a funeral pyre. They attacked Daylen, and as he fought the nightmares, he could hear the helpless screams of both father and son.

"CONNOR!" a father trapped within a loop, desperately searching for his son.

"FATHER!" a son who just wanted to save his father.

With fists of flame and lightning he violently paved a path through the demonic entities blocking him. The castle shifted, literally turning upside down. But Daylen continued walking, across the ceiling, across the walls. He knew enough about the fade not to be disorientated by it. Barging into Eamon's room, he saw the Arl searching.

"My son, where is my son?" he demanded.

"Arl Eamon?" Daylen followed the man's reaction.

"Where is he? I've tried to find him, but I can't see him through the fog, who is out there?"

"Your life has been linked to your sons, not only does the demon gain power through him, but through your life force as well," Daylen said.

"A demon, then my son is in danger, I must find him, CONNOR!" Eamon yelled.

"I will find him, and I will save him," Daylen said.

Eamon froze, upon hearing Daylen's statement, he seemed to have been lost in a trance. As if he as looking back on a long life and remembering someone. Daylen continued forward, going past Eamon and breaking through another door.

"FATHER!" he heard Connor yell.

Running through the fields of Redcliffe village, he rushed towards the windmill. Only when he walked inside, it was an upside down version of the castle's throne room. Daylen faced the boy looking frantically across the room.

"Who are you? Where am I? Where is father?" confusion and despair was written across his face.

"Someone once made you a promise Connor, to help your father, but they aren't helping him. They're leeching off of the both of you, but you can sever this connection. That is how you will best help your father," Daylen explained.

"I will?" Connor asked, and for a moment it seemed as if he believed Daylen.

But then Connor's eyes took on a yellow hue, and a man's voice whispered underneath his own.

"No, I don't believe you, you want to hurt father, you want to hurt me," he said.

"Connor, you need to calm yourself, focus on where you are, where do you think you are now?" Daylen asked.

'What exactly was Jowan teaching him?' Daylen wondered.

"I am home, I am..." Connor put his hands to his head and yelled in a mixture of pain and frustration. "You're trying to confuse me," he said and the scenery changed, into his room.

Frozen statues of Irving, Wynn, Isolde, Eamon and other mages and servants were set around them. They began to crack as the roof was broken apart, exposing the area to a surging yellow sky. Soon the walls collapsed, leaving the mages on nothing but an island floating amongst the chaos of the fade. Suits of armour, portraits, tapestries, all manner of paraphernalia from the castle and Redcliffe floated amongst them. Even people walked aimlessly through the sky, knights, villagers. Daylen spotted Jowan on his knees, Isolde with a scolding tone, another version of her weeping and versions of Teagan stern, or putting on the performance and voice he had when under the demon's influence. But Daylen focused on Connor, the boy went to the bed and saw his father lying on it.

"He's fine, he's going to be fine," he and the demon whispered in unison.

"That's a lie Connor, if you were to cease to exist then that would sadden your father," Daylen said.

With a wave of his hand he dispelled Eamon's image, and panic spread across Connor's face.

"No, no, no, why? Why are you trying to stop me?" he demanded, more in the demon's voice than the voice of a child.

"Enough!" Daylen grabbed Connor by his shoulders, looking him in the eyes. "Concentrate Connor, focus, look at your surroundings, notice how they are reacting to you," he explained and as Connor looked around the scenery became calmer, everything that had broken apart began to put itself back together. "This place is the Fade, it's where we pass through as we sleep, and as we die. And it is a source of power for people like us, mages Connor. But magic also comes from us, it is ours to control. Concentrate Connor, control, this dream can end, and the nightmare that the demon has infected you with can be dispelled. It is as much a creation of your mind as it is the demon's."

Connor looked at his hands and closed his eyes. He followed Daylen's movements, the man letting go of his shoulders and slowly lifting his hands, forming his fists. Both tilted their heads back and exhaled.

"Feel the pillow beneath your head, your toes on the sheets, the cold air through the castle. Focus on the reality beyond the dream, on where we truly reside, wake up," Daylen calmly stated, not commanded, not urged or begged.

Connor's eyes opened, and through blurred vision he could see the ceiling of his bedroom. He heard his mother weep like she was at a distance.

"Mother," he whispered.

"That's it, she's worried Connor, go back to her, go back to where your family truly is," Daylen said.

**"NO!" **there was a great cry and Connor was pulled out of Daylen's grip.

Connor screamed, his body fading in a flash of white light. The floor collapsed underneath Daylen and he fell through the Fade, passing sections of the castle, living quarters, the courtyard, until he landed in the dungeons. He rolled onto his back and grimaced in pain. Rising to his knees, he looked towards the cell across from him. Inside was Jowan, just as he had found him in the dungeons the first time he went to Redcliffe castle.

"Lady Isolde was looking for a teacher to show Connor how to conceal his magic, she knew that if the Arl ever found out, regardless of how he felt he would have obeyed the law, sent the boy away," Jowan explained.

"What did you have to do with the Arl?" he heard his voice demand.

"Loghain said he would grant me royal immunity from the circle, and I thought I was protecting the realm, I had no idea..."

"A little boy could now be the meat sack of a demon Jowan," Daylen's voice had utter fury in it.

"I know, I know, I didn't mean for any of this to happen, please, let me out of here I have to put this right please," Jowan leant against the bars, his eyes watering, genuine regret and desperation across them.

"Put it right? Like you did at the circle with Lily and me? No, you're better off staying here, and if, **if **the Arl recovers then he'll decide your fate."

"He could very well execute me Day."

"NO! Only my friend's get to call me that!"

He remembered the utter hatred he had in his voice. Daylen remembered walking away, but then stopping. A battle raged within him, the part of him that wanted to believe that Jowan deserved to live and another part that wanted him to suffer for his crimes. And even now, Daylen wondered if he made the right choice, if the choice he made was one born of light, or darkness. He remembered turning back and opening the cell.

"Go!" he snarled.

"Daylen I..."

"Just go Jowan, get out of my sight, your help is the last thing this place needs," Daylen had said.

"Daylen, oh, I'll try to repay this kindness, I'll try to put things right," Jowan said.

Daylen grabbed Jowan by his shoulder and forced him out of the cell, pushing him down the corridor.

"Consider this the last act of a friend and pray we never meet again, GET OUT!" Daylen yelled, making Jowan flinch.

Jowan lingered, clearly wanted to say more.

"GO!" Daylen roared in anger.

And so Jowan ran, leaving Daylen wondering if he was truly a righteous person or not. True he had come to the decision to save all that he could at the circle, but even that choice had filled him with doubt. Especially when he encountered a templar. The scenery changed before his eyes, and he was back in the tower again, facing that Templar. He remembered speaking with Cullen sometimes, he always seemed timid, but trapped behind a magical barrier, surrounded by his dead friends, something inside of him had broken.

"You broke the others, but you will not break me," Cullen said.

Daylen saw men filled with fear at Ostagar, but he had never seen a man crying like Cullen was. The templar had gripped his head tightly and screamed.

"Still here? I close my eyes but you are still here when I open them," he said.

"Because I'm real Cullen, and I'm here to help," Daylen said.

"Don't blame me for being cautious, the images...the voices...so real," Cullen grimaced in pain. "Why did you return to the tower? How did you survive?"

"Greagoir told me what happened, I knew that I needed to help," Daylen said.

"You're too late, those infernal blood mages hid amongst you, they all deserve to die for what they've done, especially Uldred!"

"I have the Litany of Adralla, and I'm going to save Irving, Uldred will die but I won't be the cause of a massacre," Daylen retorted.

"Are you blind? There's already been a massacre, no matter what magic you have you can't save them. No one should have this power, and to think I always thought we were too hard on you," Cullen explained.

"I'm going to save as many people as can be saved Cullen," Daylen said.

"Are you really saving anyone by taking this risk? To ensure this horror is ended...to guarantee that no abominations or blood mages live, you must kill everyone up there."

"I'd rather spare maleficarum than risk harming an innocent."

"Thank you, I knew you would make a rational decision," Wynn said.

"Rational? How is this rational? Do you understand the danger?"

"I know full well the dangers of magic, but killing innocents because they might be Maleficarum is not justice. I know you are angry..."

"You know nothing," Cullen interrupted Wynn. "I am thinking about the future of the circle, of Ferelden."

"I do not want the blood of innocents on my hand," Daylen said.

"I am just willing to see the painful truth, which you seem content to ignore, but what can I do?" Cullen sighed in defeat.

He seemed to accept that whatever would happen next was in Daylen's hands.

"This'll all be over soon," Daylen said.

"Maker turn his gaze on you, I hope your compassion hasn't doomed us all," Cullen said.

Those final words from Cullen haunted Daylen still. And he often found himself wondering if what the Templar said was true, or if they were just the ramblings of an understandably angry and traumatised man. He wondered if he had truly been kind or compassionate, or right, or if he had just made a stupid decision based upon an inability to coat his hands in the blood of supposed innocents.

But shaking all of that self doubt aside, Daylen dispelled the demon's attempt to impede his path. And he advanced through a shining light, a portal to another part of the fade. He walked down a narrow corridor, rocks and dirt like it would be on the road. The path led to a clearing exposed to the Fade's yellow sky. Daylen narrowed his eyes at the figure sitting in the middle of the clearing. A Desire demon, but different from what he had seen before. She was wearing gold shoulder armour, and blue sleeves on her wrists and legs. Her skin was a darker purple, and blue flames glowed around her scalp like hair.

Resting his head against her lap was Connor, calmly sleeping, the Desire demon caressed his face like a loving parent. She looked up at Daylen and smirked.

**"Very well, no more illusions, now we meet face to face. You see my true form, and stand in my domain!"**

Next Chapter 15: Virtue

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, bit of a change of the recipe of the story, next chapter will again be a Daylen focus chapter, with perhaps two Fausten and the Targaryens chapters to follow it. This way I can better tell the story arcs between each characters, as they are multiple chapter arcs.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A Song of Ice and Fire

This chapter, the paths of the Griffin and Phoenix begin to merge, the start of the first crossover arc of this story and an original questline for the Warden.

* * *

Game of Dragons

They were sat in Aerys's quarters, again facing each other in a game of chess. Fausten had taken Aerys's queen, but Fausten had lost a great deal of his pawns in the attempt. Aerys stroked his chin, thinking carefully on his next strategy, even as he moved a rook to be taken by Fausten's knight.

"They said that Daenys Targaryen had a prophetic dream that foretold the fall of great Valyria, Daenys the Dreamer they called her afterwards, her prophecy proved to be true," Aerys took Fausten's knight and smirked.

"I'm aware of this," Fausten muttered.

"It was also said that Visenya Targaryen knew magic," Aerys said.

"Yes, but magic died out a long time ago, hell, with the history of Westeros this place should have the thinnest Veil in the entire world," Fausten said.

"The Veil?" Aerys looked at his friend in confusion.

"Oh, that's the barrier between our world and the Fade, the dreaming place where spirits dwell. Mages have a stronger connection to it than most," Fausten explained.

"And if we were to restore our connection to the Fade, then we would restore the magic of the world," Aerys said.

"It would take an event of significance to restore that connection, short of collapsing the wall, or dragons returning, or a genocide, I don't see what could restore magic to this land," Fausten stated and Aerys grinned.

"Well you listed three possibilities," he said.

"I can't have given you an idea Aerys," Fausten said.

"One can dream Faust, one can dream, I suppose I just want to ride a dragon, or at least have the fire of one," Aerys said.

"Ever heard of the danger of playing with fire?"

"Fire cannot kill a dragon!"

"Not true," Fausten said as he took Aerys's bishop. "Even dragons will melt when faced with a particularly strong fire!"

* * *

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 15: Virtue

Daylen looked at Connor, cautious of the boy in the demon's arms. He seemed to be both child and pet to her as she stroked his hair. She looked at the burning shadow that was Daylen's manifestation and grinned, rising as she stroked the gold chain pinned to her breast.

**"It is here I am most powerful, and yet I have no wish to engage your power, nor should you be so eager to engage mine," **she said.

**"Perhaps, we should converse instead," **she swayed her hips slightly as she approached Daylen, standing blocking his view of Connor.

"What could I possibly have to talk to you about?" Daylen asked.

**"I possess the boy's soul. We could battle for it, or we could negotiate like civilised beings, if you are smart, you could even come out ahead."**

"I doubt that," Daylen scoffed.

**"I am desire. Whatever you creatures of the living world want, I seek to provide. Lust, power, greed, these are my province. Perhaps there are things you wish for, let us pause and speak of them. It costs nothing but a moment of your time," **the Desire demon took a step towards Daylen.

He backed away cautiously, the pebbles around him shaking slightly, electricity sparked between him and the Desire demon, whom simply smirked at his fear.

"We could talk all day about the things I want, my uncle back, my family reunited, my cousin's home restored to them, the end of the blight, world peace, mass enlightenment that doesn't involve zealous devotion to an absent god. The only thing you could give me right now is the release of the boy," Daylen explained, taking a step forward with more determination than the Demon was accustomed to.

**"The boy is useless to me without the father, I release one, I release both. What if you could persuade me to leave voluntarily? No fuss and no bloodshed," **Desire said.

"And what about all the suffering you have wrought?" Daylen asked.

**"Come now surely that means nothing to a man such as yourself, a coward, an assassin, a blood mage, a murderer, you've forgiven all," **Desire laughed.

She shifted as she spoke, to the man imprisoned at Ostagar. A man who Daylen got food for. To Zevran, then Jowan and Sten before she returned to her normal form, smirking at him.

**"This is about your desire, not my punishment. I'll never feel regret for anything I've done," **she said.

"That's the difference between us and you," Daylen said.

**"At least hear the proposition, you have tried hard, ease your suffering. Reduce the risk to yourself, if you fail then the destruction will continue, or the templars will slaughter the boy and the magic that keeps the father alive will fade," **the Desire demon hovered off of the floor, floating around Daylen, allowing Connor to awaken.

But the boy didn't seem to be aware of anything that was going on around him. He was aimlessly walking about, a smile on his face.

**"I abandon the boy...for now. But I retain the contract he and I made, and many years from now, I may return and claim what is mine. This will be long after whatever you want is done. In exchange, I will provide something of value to you, something you desire, what say you?"**

"How about I make you an offer?" Daylen asked and the Desire demon raised her head curiously.

"You leave Connor be, let me return with him and you will never bother his family or anyone else again. Do this, and I'll let you live," Daylen said.

The Desire demon looked at him, the way the rubble shifted around him, the way flames surrounded him and lightning flickered around him. Other spirits were drawn to him, spirits of defiance, of courage and valour. They flocked to him and his virtue. She hovered above the floor, flying to Connor's side and grabbing his shoulders.

**"This boy will grow wise and strong as you are, and through him I will leave this place and achieve my own desires," **she hissed at Daylen.

The ground began to shake, lightning flashed in the sky and Connor's eyes glowed purple. He hovered like the Desire demon, whom disappeared, an avatar of her horns glowing on Connor's forehead.

**"You will not fold to desire, THEN LET YOUR NIGHTMARES TAKE YOU!"** Connor screamed in a mixture of his voice and the Desire demons.

The ground cracked beneath Daylen, and he fell, the shadows and light flowed away from his body. He became himself again, crashing through a stone ceiling. Daylen coughed, rubbing his sore knees and back as he rose. His helmet, shield and sword both materialised on his body, a staff appearing too on his back. Daylen stood his ground as the darkness gave way to a circular hill surrounded by castle ruins. In a pool of blood two men materialised and Daylen stepped back in shock. Daveth in his green and black leather armour, twirling his daggers around. Beside him, drawing his sword and encased in silver and gold armour was Jory, his shield bearing four spikes on it.

"Should have taken the offer Daylen," 'Daveth' taunted.

"Now we must punish you for it," 'Jory' flicked his sword and got into a stance.

Daylen rushed towards his opponents. Daveth took two jumps to the side as Jory and Daveth clashed swords. The nimble fighter then brought his left dagger towards Daylen's back, only for Daylen to bash him with his shield. Daveth rolled over the shield, then over Jory's shield before he dropped a smoke bomb. Daylen's vision was obscured, leaving him vulnerable to a shield bash that rattled his equilibrium. He parried Jory's sword and blocked a second shield bash, head butting the man with his helmet, he knocked Jory back.

'Not the best idea to fight me with memories of old comrades,' Daylen thought.

Daveth ran around Daylen, approaching him only when Jory locked blades with him. Daylen prepared himself, waiting for the moment when Daveth would strike. He remembered something Alistair told him about fighting opponent's with shields, and something that Zevran told him about assassins. Once Jory was close enough to thrust his knife for Daylen's armpit, Daylen sidestepped and tripped Jory. The knight stumbled forward, Daveth's knife sticking into his side. Daylen then yelled, lunging his sword through the Jory's neck, driving it through into Daveth's chest too.

'This is why I sparred with both Alistair and Zevran at the same time, they always beat me. Daveth and Jory were both good fighters, but inferior versions of the respective disciplines that Alistair and Zevran fight with,' Daylen yanked the blade out and swung the blood off.

Jory and Daveth fell to their knees, blood leaking from their mouths. They both coughed and spat out puddles of red, a red that gradually turned black. Their skin began to rot and their eyes turned white.

"Ghouls," Daylen identified the new creatures.

Blighted versions of the former Warden recruits rose and snarled at Daylen. He put his shield on his back and held the sword with both hands. Concentrating, Daylen shifted the blade into an elf long sword, passing fire through the blade. He adjusted his footing and his grip, remembering the lessons of both Sten and Leliana. The former for the grip of a sword with a long handle, and the latter for the footing to ensure maximum speed during a duel. Daylen lost count of the number of times Leliana was able to bring him to the ground. Jory struck first and Daylen parried and side stepped is blows, dodging his shield strikes and diverting the wild slashes of his sword. He tilted his head back to avoid the snap of Jory's draws and jumped to the side when Daveth approached. Daveth moved quickly towards Daylen, locking his daggers around Daylen's sword.

Daylen shoved Daveth back and blocked Jory's sword. Then he parried Jory's shield, stepping to the side and slashing Jory's arm. The appendage and the shield fell to the floor and Daylen quickly turned, deflecting Daveth's daggers. He slashed Jory twice across the chest, turning to parry Jory's sword and slash him across the throat. Daylen reversed the grip on his sword and stepped to the side, driving his sword through Daveth's mouth. Then as he ripped his sword out of Daveth's mouth, he beheaded Jory with one movement.

"Enough of the games Desire, face me, UNLESS YOU'RE A COWARD!" he yelled.

He walked around the fading bodies and ran away from the Grey Warden joining ground. Instead of entering Cailan's throne room though, he came to the chamber that the phylacteries had been kept in.

"You will fail Daylen," a voice spoke above him.

He looked up and narrowed his eyes. A manifestation of Lily, only her robes had armour on them. She drew from her hips a dagger with spikes on the guard and a curved club.

"How could you free him and not accept Desire's offer, it is pure hypocrisy for you to have granted Jowan a second chance and not her," she said.

"Fine, I'll play this game, I did give Desire a pretty fair chance. And you should pick someone else if you want to fill me with guilt," Daylen said.

He removed his shield from his back, deflecting Lily's mace. She moved quickly, quicker than Leliana, almost slithering across the floor like a Shade. He blocked several strikes from both her weapons, forcing her back with a swing of his sword. Reshaping the weapon, he turned it into an axe, hooking it around Lily's mace.

"He was a blood mage, all blood mages are evil, look at what he did to Eamon, and what that did to Connor as a result. This is all because of him and you let him go to avoid punishment," Lily explained.

"Maybe, there's not a lot of point justifying myself to you is there, the image of the woman who abandoned him because she was indoctrinated by a religion's teachings," Daylen snatched the mace from her grip and smashed her across the face with his shield. "A woman who threw herself to judgement for her religious beliefs alone, whom cast aside love and common sense. He cherished you, he lied yeah, but he didn't abandon his love for you. You were the one who betrayed us, NOT HIM!" Daylen crashed his axe into the construct's chest.

Her pained and shocked expression was frozen as the blood rose from her chest. She melted in a puddle of blood and the room suddenly changed again. Daylen turned the axe back into a sword and sheathed it, taking his staff from his back. He reappeared in the harrowing chamber, his opponent already waiting.

"Another test Daylen, you were always good at tests, it's why I turned to blood magic in the first place. Your successes were always my failures," said the image of Jowan.

His purple and blue robes were more intricate than what he always wore. There was gold embroidery across the robes too, and armoured gauntlets over his arms. He carried a bladed staff that crackled with red energy.

"I'm going to mess up again Daylen, you shouldn't have let me go, I will bleed Ferelden dry and when I'm done with is, I'll go to Westeros and bleed your family," his eyes glowed red as he raised his staff.

"Come on, Jowan may have crossed the line and dabbled, but he's much too queasy to do something like that," Daylen grinned.

He twirled his staff around lightning both ends on fire as 'Jowan' threw shards of ice at him. Daylen then slammed his staff into the ground, blocking with a barrier a wave of fire. Bloody veins spread across the construct's face, the blood he controlled dripping off of his staff. He swung the staff around, creating a wave of blood. Daylen rolled to the side as the wave solidified, shaping into red spikes. He stepped back and threw a fireball, then use earth magic on the ground. Jowan deflected the fireball, but fell when the ground caved in. They fell through the Fade, passing images of the pair of them interacting in the circle, of Jowan showing Connor books of magical theory. Jowan fire electricity from his hand, shocking Daylen enough to make him let go of his staff. Spinning, Jowan slowed his fall with mana.

They landed in an upside down version of Redcliffe's throne room. Daylen struck just as Jowan launched a fireball towards him. He passed through the fire, using the fade step to pass through Jowan, turning his skin pale. A dagger of ice materialised in Daylen's hand, he turned towards Jowan and swung the knife towards him. But Jowan blocked the blow with his hand, the blood splattering onto his face. Dragging his staff blade across Daylen's shoulder armour, he pushed Daylen back with a blast. His eyes widened as Daylen created an ice spike and threw it towards him. The spike struck the barrier Jowan conjured.

Daylen rushed forward, drawing the long sword from his belt. He threw his shield, striking Jowan's barrier before it flew back to his arm. Then he covered his sword with mana energy, stabbing through Jowan's shield. Jowan parried the thrust and grinded the blade and staff against Daylen's sword and shield respectively. They both used Earth magic on the ground, disrupting one another's footing. Only Jowan materialised a hilt in his hand. Blood spread out from the hilt in a parody of a Knight-Enchanter spirit blade. Jowan slashed Daylen across the chest and then drove his staff blade through his shoulder, Daylen yelled, feeling 'Jowan' manipulate his blood. His body felt as if it had been lit on fire from the inside, and sadistic smile was just another piece of evidence that he wasn't fighting Jowan. Daylen slammed his head into Jowan's, drawing blood from his mouth. Using his own blood magic, Daylen healed his wound. Then he raised his sword over his head and brought it down on Jowan's blade, breaking his defence. With a final swing, he cut off the creature's arm.

**"I ALWAYS HATED YOU!" **the construct screamed.

The blood seeping out of his shoulder stopped near the floor. Suddenly, the blood formed a maw that snapped at Daylen. It trapped Daylen's arm and Jowan thrust his blade towards Daylen's neck. At the last moment however, Daylen diverted the blade into the maw, piercing its flesh. He then dropped his sword and grabbed hold of the blade, charging it with electricity. The volts passed through Jowan's body, burning his skin. Daylen pulled the sword back to his grip and cut through the maw. Then with three slashes, he cut an X into Jowan's chest before sweeping the blade through his neck. He pulled his hand back, drawing blood from the wounds into a ball.

"HAVE IT BACK!" Daylen yelled.

Solidifying the ball of blood, he smashed the iron like construct into his opponent's face, caving it in. Daylen slammed the body against the ground and immediately ran forward.

"ENOUGH HIDING DEMON!" he roared.

He jumped towards the throne, knowing the image would be a gateway to the desire's of the demon, and to an unconscious degree Connor's too. Most little boys dreamed of being the gallant king from the fairy tales, or of being in charge. He landed in the fields of Redcliffe, the long grass had turned red and the castle in the distance was burning. There were people around the field, residents of the village, servants of the castle. Their skin was deathly pale and they wept tears of blood. Daylen instead focused on the figure ahead of him. He was a young man wearing purple circle mage robes, his staff had two dragon heads holding a purple orb between them. The young man turned and smiled, eyes glowing purple, the horn avatar glowing on his forehead.

"This is what I could make him mage," the voice was much like Connor's, but broken and deeper as a man's voice would be. "Had you accepted my offer, he would live his happy life, grown strong, and even stronger when I join with him. You could have profited from this agreement, how tired are you mage, how much longer do you think your soul will last?"

'Connor' grinned, tapping his staff against the ground. The avatar of the horns grew larger, and purple, ethereal energy surrounded his staff. The energy formed the shape of a great spear, one Connor easily lifted. Daylen prepared his shield and sword, bracing himself as Connor rushed forward.

* * *

Lhazar

Dirt and shit, it was what Daenerys had begun to grow accustomed to. Viserys too, though he certainly complained more about it. During their time under the tutelage of James Marcher, Danerys could not deny that her brother was slowly becoming a better person. Still prone to anger, but he had turned his anger on her less. They were becoming accustomed to their new identities, Alexa had helped Dany to style her hair (it came as a surprise to Daenerys that the warrior woman was a good hair dresser). She looked forward through to the day she could grow her hair back to its normal length. James had taken some of his troops to Qarth, and instructed Viserys to stay in Lhazar and protect the village. It was clear that the shepherds were loyal to James, as they had made their stay as comfortable as they could.

"Princess," the godswife Mirri Maz Dur said to Daenerys as she entered her tent.

She was a heavy set, flat nosed woman over forty years. Some of the people called her a Maegi, a blood mage. Daenerys had heard how some magicians used blood as a way of telling the future. The books on Thedas that James had given her, also told her of the great taboo surrounding blood magic. She felt uneasy at times around Mirri, but the woman regarded her like she did the other children she looked after.

"Has there been any word from Faust...I mean James?" Dany asked.

"We do not often receive ravens here princess," Mirri smirked. "And do not fear, I know of Fausten Amell and his plans for you, and for the line of dragons."

"You know him?"

"He saved my village from the Dothraki, he defeated the undefeated Khal and promised that my village no longer fear the Dothraki, and I believe him. He has employed me to educate you on magic for the duration of your stay," Mirri explained.

"Magic is gone," Daenerys said.

"It has been suppressed in this part of the world, but there are certain elements, that allow us to temporarily restore our link to the fade," Mirri set a mortar and some herbs on the table.

She ground the herbs, motioning for Daenerys to sit. Daenerys knelt in front of Mirri as she began to burn the grounded herbs. The godswife removed a pouch from her pile of ingredients and put the contents of it into the fire. Daenerys stared at the small grains of blue crystals in awe.

"This is lyrium, a rare element that people do not dig for here, it is a source of power for mages in Thedas, and a primal ingredient in many of their rituals. There is power in blood," Mirri shook a vial of blood in front of Daenerys.

"Whose is that?" she asked.

"This princess, is one of Fausten's most prized possessions. With some additional chemicals to preserve it, this is the blood of someone Fausten's values greatly, taken when they were a mere child. Just by holding it I can tell, there is powerful magic behind this blood. A task he has left me, and a task he has left you, revolves around this vial of blood and the Fade," Mirri explained.

"What does he wish of me?" Daenerys asked.

"If you possess the gift of magic, then it will be easy for you, put some of your blood into the fire," Mirri commanded.

"What will happen?"

"Breathe in the fumes, and if the boy this blood belongs to is within the Fade, then your dream will be linked to his. What Fausten desires is for you to meet this man, to take the measure of his soul, and answer a question that Fausten wants answered more than anything in the world, a question that will leave him free of distractions. That way, he will be able to forge your new empire in earnest," Mirri explained.

"What is the question?"

Mirri pulled on Dany's hair, whispering the instructions into her ear. Dany gasped, such a question seemed strange to her. But she still nodded her head, eager to carry out this task for a man who was more father to her than she had had since her birth. She cut her finger, letting the blood flow into the fire. Then she closed her eyes and breathed in the fumes. Mirri opened the vial of blood and poured the contents into the flames. She then began to chant, her voice echoing out of the tent, making the villagers and mercenaries look at it in fear.

* * *

Fade

Daylen and the Desire demon clashed, their weapons releasing sparks across the field. They flowed through the glass, slamming their weapons together again and again. Both were knocked back by the force of the impacts, but quickly recovered the attack again. 'Connor's' spear bounced off Daylen's shield and he swung his sword for a counter. But Desire stepped back and parried the blow, thrusting the spear towards Daylen's face. He tilted his head, the weapon dragging against his helm. Daylen then barged into Connor with his shield and knocked him back with a swing of his sword. But rather than fall onto his back, the demonic mage floated through the grass. He flew at Daylen, striking his shield from one angle, then dashing to the right and attacking again at that angle. Dashing back and forth, he forced Daylen back with his blows.

"Come and face Desire," he twirled his staff around, conjuring a rune behind him.

He thrust his hand forward, unleashing a flurry of purple spikes. Much to his shock though Daylen used his sword and shield to break the projectiles. He struck each one that came at him, and when he stopped swinging his weapons, he revealed they had been covered by rock armour.

"Through the weapons," Desire gasped.

Daylen covered his shield in flames and threw it at Desire, the projectile slamming into a runic shield the demon summoned. Dragging his sword across the ground, Daylen created a wave of ice that knocked Desire to the side. With the demon off balance, Daylen ran up the slide and used a fade step to launch himself at Desire, crashing his sword into the demon's staff. They plummeted to the ground, both rolling down a hill towards the village itself. Daylen rose and ran at Desire, for a moment, Connor's form with replaced with the demon herself. But she turned back into Connor and hovered off of the ground, firing one blast of energy after another at Daylen. He fade stepped from one point to another, deflecting bolts too with his sword and chasing after the demon.

"Such a waste, you could have had more, do you not desire more?" the demon demanded, creating rows of chains in an attempt to bind Daylen.

But Daylen deflected the chains and continued rushing his opponent. Energy surrounded Desire's staff again, this time forming a hammer like shape he used to bash Daylen aside. His sword shattered and his armour began to fall apart. He rolled across the floor, eye glowing through the visor of his helmet.

"TELL ME YOUR DESIRE!" the demon roared.

He flew over Daylen, raising his hand and summoning a rune that eclipsed the village. Out of that rune he rained down shards of purple crystals on the village, and on Daylen.

* * *

King's landing

Aristanna thrashed in her bed, sweat running down her face. She was suffering the dreams again, only this time they were much worse. The struggle of her heroes was much more severe this time. She remained asleep, falling into her dream, into her stories. It had been both her gift and her curse, since she had started becoming a woman and not a girl. The first time she bled was when she began seeing the images clearly, seeing the adventures with such clarity that she could swear she was right there with them. Of course she did well to hide the fact that she had bled, people in King's landing tended to get involved in her business. She was a pretty girl with a gift for music and stories, with a good name linked to an obscure but now famous land. Cersei looked at her like a prized horse for breeding, she had begun to 'arrange' for Lancel, her cousin and the king's squire to spend more time with Aristanna.

'One ball and no brain,' was a bit too harsh a description of Lancel. Tywin Lannister tended to tower over all of his family members, making them look like fools with his intellect and drive. Lancel had his qualities, sweetness, in Aristanna's opinion Robert treated him a bit too harshly, king's weren't the easiest people to squire for, and Robert wasn't the easiest person before becoming king. But Aristanna had no interest in Lancel, it wasn't his bumbling or his family name, she could do worse in husband's. Like most of the Amell women, Aristanna wanted to marry for love. Or at the least she wanted her family, not others to determine her best match.

Baelish seemed to be everyone's friend, he was always nice but Aristanna knew his advice had strings attached. As for Varys, he was certainly better than most of the people in king's landing. Not that that was saying anything. Though barring the queen's children (not Joffrey) out of all the people in King's landing Aristanna enjoyed his company and Tyrion's the most. They certainly didn't try to regard her as a political pawn.

Her attempt to forget the dream with her thoughts on King's landing was in vain. When she opened her eyes she was falling out of bed, falling into darkness. She fell deeper and deeper, away from the light, hearing the sounds of destruction. And when she stopped falling, she found herself floating through grass. Crystal spikes had imbedded themselves in the ground, and in front of Aristanna stood a man whose leg and arm had similar spikes imbedded in them, a spike had pierced through his side, and another had gone through his shoulder and out the other side.

She had seen him many times before in her dreams. His demonic helmet at first, the unique armour covering his arm, the shoulder pad and baggy trousers over his legs. But as he turned his head, he saw through the visor, at a glowing red eye. But, unlike with most, she was not afraid of his appearance. Even though behind the helmet, she knew there was a man with burns and scars much like the Clegane lord Sandor. She knew the man behind the helmet, and felt a swell of hope within her as he looked up at the dark figure, pulling the shard of crystal out of his arm.

Daylen Amell, her cousin and pride of the Amells.

He embodied that title in his very stance, in the defiance against the odds and the determination he displayed. But more importantly, he embodied the unofficial words of the Amell clan.

'Let actions speak louder than words,' Aristanna thought, putting her hands to her chest as fire ran across her cousin's hands.

He broke apart the crystal and put his hands downwards. The fire that blew out of his hands threw him into the sky, much to his opponent's shock. Aristanna saw beneath the demon's disguise, through even the voluptuous and horned visage of Desire. A grotesque parody of desire, ghostly energy fused with horned bones and a fanged face with an elongated tongue. It raised its staff as Daylen flew towards him. Daylen slammed his fist into the creature, using a fade step, but instead of applying the ice element to it, he applied lightning. They crashed into the ground like the element, Daylen bashing his opponent's head against the floor. As the impact threw them away from each other, the demon faded in a blink of purple energy. He reappeared behind Daylen, brandishing a pair of gleaming purple swords.

'No,' Aristanna gasped as one of the swords was stabbed into Daylen's shoulder.

Daylen swung around, pushing the demon back. Fire and ice formed in his hands, giving way to two curved short swords. He and the demon began a quick and relentless duel of parries, clashes and dodges. They moved across the village, swords grinding together, both releasing sparks from every clash of their blades. Daylen kept up his assault on the demon, swinging his sword's through the creature's defence again and again. He diverted and smacked through the blades, and Aristanna saw the aura of fear spreading across the demon's form.

'That's it,' Aristanna put her hands together in anticipation.

The demon hovered back, throwing his blades and summoning more around him. They flew at Daylen, but he covered his blades in mana every time he struck the projectiles, passing Earth magic through them to shatter the projectiles every time they flew towards him. With every swing of his arm, he destroyed the constructs of the demons.

'Keep going,' Aristanna urged him.

She felt like cheering, watching her cousin make the demon fall back, making the creature of nightmares, just another monster to be slain. Ploughing through every obstacle, overcoming every attack. Aristanna watched Daylen, the object of her aunt's favour and dreams, whom many of their family members dreamed of. But only Aristanna could see who he truly was, courageous and determined, and the very thing her grandfather dreamed of becoming. Not like those characters from old tales, not like those knights she had heard of, but something else entirely. Daylen kept up his assault, slashing through the shards and rolling to dodge others.

"You are in the presence of the embodiment of Desire, FALL DAMN YOU!" the demon screamed.

'No, he won't, he'll keep going until he wins, until he's saved that child,' Aristanna thought.

* * *

Daenerys opened her eyes, and stared up at the world in awe. This new world where islands floated in a yellow sky, where ghostly spirits flew and the very land beneath Daenerys shifted. She looked at her clothes, she was dressed in the leather armour Fausten had given her. There was even a short sword on her waist. Daenerys took a step forward, the ground felt like dirt, then suddenly like sand. Her eyes adjusted, and in the distance, she saw a castle, not like the Essosi or Westerosi architecture that Fausten had shown her. This was Thedosian, she knew it in her bones. She began a walk through the path ahead, and as she did, ghostly figures flew around her. They assumed the forms of skeletal figures with swords, a panicking small folk. Daenerys watched these spirits enact a massacre, feeling a pang of sympathy for the people who suffered such an event.

'Is this truly real, or just a nightmare?' she still struggled to believe, in magic, in the veil, and especially in the worth of one man.

She felt a shiver course through her body as the spirits shaped themselves into several figures. An archer firing her bow true, a wild witch flailing her staff around and grabbing the undead in freezing grips, a quick assassin dashing between his opponents. They made way for a stone giant, the diamonds in its fist shining. It was followed closely by a man certainly tall enough to be considered a giant, fighting alongside a knight with a flaming sword. A hound howled, before a red eyed figure raised his hand and unleashed fire into the sky.

'Fire cannot kill a dragon,' Daenerys believed.

But the flames made her fearful, for they were blue and not orange or red as other flames she had seen before. It was only when the flames faded that she continued along the path, seeing the castle in the distance. She felt her heart pounding against her chest, felt the heat of the flames from earlier, and her legs were shaking. Yet still she advanced, it was what Fausten wished of her after all. And she was curious herself, she wanted to know the young man who occupied Fausten's thoughts.

"CONNOR! CONNOR!" she heard a man yell.

The scenery shifted and she was within the castle, looking at a man rushing from one end of the room to the other.

"SON! WHERE ARE YOU! I CANNOT SEE! THE FOG! THE FOG! CONNOR!" Daenerys felt a pang of sympathy for this man.

"He's lost in the darkness, you should be careful yourself little girl," a voice spoke from the ground.

Daenerys looked to the corner of the room, there was a mouse there, but it couldn't possibly...

"Yes, I'm a talking mouse, this is the Fade dear, don't tell me you were dropped in without any guidance," the mouse laughed as its body glowed.

Within moments it was stood upright, wearing red robes over a black shirt and black trousers. His hands were gloved, and his hair was brown and combed at the back. He crossed his arms as he looked at Daenerys.

"You don't have the look of a circle mage, in fact, I'd dare say you're from a place where magic is seldom used. That place of Jade I wonder? Or the other lands to the East? No, your eyes tell me of a dead place," the 'Mouse-man' grinned as Daenerys frowned at him.

"Who are you to speak to me like that?" she demanded.

"What am I is more the correct term, and don't worry about me...Mouse will do for me, I'm just a casual observer, for a particular mage veering close to the darkness," he explained.

"What do you mean?" Daenerys asked.

"Oh you really are ignorant aren't you?" Mouse scoffed. "You should be more careful here girl, you never know when a demon will pounce on you, and take your body, one can lose themselves here."

"I will not be afraid, I am...I am Daenerys Targaryen, and I will not lose myself," she stood as tall as she could.

But her bravado only made Mouse laugh.

"Targaryen, well you've got some odds to beat, it will be interesting to see," he said.

"I must move on," Daenerys moved past the man, continuing to one of the doors.

"If you do meet Daylen, give him my regards, oh and do be careful dear," Mouse said.

He turned back into the small creature and crawled through a hole in the floor. Daenerys moved on, walking through one of the doors. Only this door led outside, and when Daenerys looked behind her she saw that the field she was on was actually connected to the castle. The castle itself was only partly a castle, some of the 'sections' of it were parts of a village, in place of one of the spires was a windmill, servants were even sweeping at pieces of grass on the floor of the throne room. Daenery's looked over the ledge of the section she stood on, it was suspended in the air.

She turned her head to the crying she could hear in the distance. As she drew closer to it, she could make out the form of a red haired boy kneeling on the grass. But he wasn't alone, she could see a woman standing by him. She could see that the woman was wearing pure white robes, her eyes covered by the hood she wore. Her skin also seemed deathly pale as she touched the top of the boy's head. Daenerys shifted uncomfortably as the boy flinched. She could tell that he was frightened.

"You," the woman's voice seemed to echo in Daenerys's head. "Should not be here, should not have come. You'll never leave, unless he wills it now," the priestess said.

Daenerys hugged her arms, suddenly feeling a great cold around her. The priestess's robes suddenly expanded, and the last thing Daenerys saw was total darkness.

* * *

Aristanna widened her eyes as she saw the demon scream. Daylen himself seemed to be surprised to, for he hadn't struck his opponent. The demon shifted between the forms of Desire and Connor, finally stopping on her Desire form. But her right side had sagged, her horns had turned upside down and her fiery hair had become a mere spark.

**"No, No, NO!" **she screamed. **"HE'S MINE! MINE!" **the demon yelled in agony as it flew to the ground.

"GET BACK HERE!" Daylen yelled.

He ran to where the Desire demon had landed, only to find her sinking into the ground.

**"He has gone into the deep, into the darkest parts of the fade, where none from your realm return, YOU WILL NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN!" **the demon half laughed, half cried as she disappeared.

Daylen let go of his weapons and clawed at the ground, punched it and once it was clear nothing was there, he raised his head and yelled.

"GIVE CONNOR BACK! DON'T TAKE HIM! DAMN IT!"he roared.

Aristanna could see the tear in his eye. A tear of blood, his form flickered for a moment, as if the waking world was calling him back. He struck his head against the ground and cursed again and again. The young man seemed to have been consumed by utter despair, not that Aristanna could blame him. To have tried so hard, only to fail. She knew such a thing would break her, and she knew that some of her cousin's too might be disheartened by such a thing, that they too would stop for a while.

But he rose, standing tall and putting his hand to his heart. Daylen Amell ran his fist slowly across his face, taking a breath and then continuing onwards.

"Let our actions speak louder than words," Aristanna said, realising that he would never stop.

Even if he had to remain asleep for days, even if he was to fall into a coma. He would save that boy.

"It would be interesting," Aristanna flinched as she heard a voice behind her.

She turned, but saw nothing, until she looked at the ground and saw a Mouse.

"To see if he will lose himself," the little creature said.

Then, the Dreamer woke.

Next Chapter 16: House of the Undying

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter. The Fade Jory and Daveth designs were based on the Heroes of Dragon Age game, as were fade Lily's and Jowan's. Next time we go to Fausten and Viserys, as they seek help for a comatose Daenerys, meanwhile, Daenerys herself explores a darker realm of the fade where new terrors lie.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I don't own A song of Ice and Fire or Dragon Age

* * *

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 16: House of the Undying

The Meadow

Peace seemed everlasting in the Meadow, things were stable between the Greenwards and the Amells again. The new recruits for the Meadow's official militia rushed to join. Uther stood with Balthazar and Cassius to train the young men and women in how to fight. Selene saw to the logistics of it, determining the new investments that the Amell family would make. In order to succeed in their ventures, they had to accumulate wealth through more than just taxes and mining. Fausten taught all of his grandchildren the art of economics, though he had not been Selene's teacher, Revion had come close to his grandfather's expertise. It was part of the reason why Selene loved him so much, he had taught her how to be independent. She ruled the Meadow and determined policy just as much as he did. Oliver though served as a chief advisor to them both, acting when they weren't available.

"A fishing fleet in White Harbour, wine traders in Dorne, and silk traders in King's landing, twenty percent shares of each business should give us a significant sum," he explained.

The veiled man sat on a straw chair, his sleeves rolled up. Two Chantry sisters rubbed a salve over his scarred and blister ridden skin. It was indeed true that Oliver was afflicted with a severe degenerative skin condition. Many of the physicians he had seen, stated that it would be a miracle for him to reach thirty. He was twenty two, and one of Revion's closest friends. He put his glove back on and stood, bowing to Selene before he turned to the map on it.

"The imports business is beginning to spread to Essos, the new ships will be able to collect the gold for Gerion Lannister. I can't say I feel comfortable with Revion's plan my lady," Oliver explained.

"I know, but when has Revion led you astray?" Selene asked.

"It only takes one instance for it to be a disaster my lady," Oliver leant against the table, gripping his side.

"You should take a rest," she said.

"Is that a command my lady?"

"Don't be snippy, as both your lady and your friend, I am worried, Revion may not seem it but he is too," Selene said.

"I know his heart Selene, perhaps better than you," Oliver said.

"Tell me what is in your heart Oliver? What do you feel over supporting Gerion Lannister?" she asked.

Oliver took the map off of the table, motioning to the edges of it.

"We know that beyond the map is Thedas, and perhaps what Gerion seeks, old Valyria, or what may be left of it. We provide him sailors, ships, and some gold, that way the Lannisters are indebted to us. But Gerion will not tell his brother of this, and though Tywin Lannister values his family reputation and continued success, if Gerion fails, he may declare any debt void. The pair of them have never truly gotten along," he explained.

"You're right, I've sure Revion realises this, but it is good to make friends with Lannisters. Lannisters, Tyrells and Starks, we're making friends as much as we can," Selene said.

Oliver nodded his head and placed the map back on the table.

"If an event happens that leads the Lannisters to fight with the Starks, we will have to make a choice over whom we side with. The problem with making friends, is that sometimes you have to choose between them," Oliver explained.

"Not always," Selene said.

"You are far too optimistic my lady," Oliver muttered.

As they spoke, Revion stood in the training courtyard, twirling a staff around. His opponent wore a white robe and hood, the edge of the coat and sleeves were red, as was the staff they carried. Revion thrust and parried, battling with his sparring partner until he was tripped.

"Well done, you lasted five minutes, you're getting the hang of the Katas," she said, offering Revion her hand.

"Thank you," he said.

She pulled him up, then lowered her hood, revealing a blonde haired woman.

"Why do you want to know the Katas?" she asked. "There is no guarantee that you even have magic. Besides, I am living proof that magic cannot reach here," she said.

"Morgiana, there is more to magic than simply fire and ice, it is about the connections," Revion said.

"But people in Westeros haven't connected with magic since the times of the original Targaryens," Morgiana said.

"Giving him a history lesson my dear?" Bella asked, walking to the training circle.

"I'm sure Revion knows his history better than I do, I'm simply questioning his desire to reconnect with magic," Morgiana said.

"If magic was to come to Westeros again, it would be the single biggest disaster this nation has ever faced. Thousands of children, and possibly grown adults suddenly awakening magic they have no knowledge of or way to control, and no trained force to fight the demons and abominations that would inevitably result," Bella explained.

"But then there would be wonders in Westeros again," Revion said.

The way he said it disturbed the mother and her daughter. Morgiana was the reason Bella left the service of the Chantry in Val Royeaux. She fell in love with a man, and fathered a child, a mage child. Morgiana however would be one of four Apostates (that the Amells knew of) to smuggle themselves into the lands of Westeros and Essos. An elf mage named Sketch settled himself in the Riverlands, helping elves there, though on occasion providing herbal 'treatments' to the lords whom paid him well. Pardraic Sétanta was a roguish sort, whom carried his staff in the form of a green and gold spear. Exploring the north, he wore a blue shirt underneath straps of leather and steel armour, armoured boots, gauntlets, though he kept his right arm exposed. The dark haired man had the reputation in Thedas as a self taught 'melee range caster', his crimes also included infiltrating the esteemed Knight-Enchanter organisation, just so he could paint 'Knight-Enchanters suck, Arcane Warriors For the Win!' in their meeting chamber.

In the North though he was known as an entertainer during banquets, a sage whom assisted pilgrims on the road, and a protector of villagers struck by wildling bandits. His spear wasn't just for show, but for every person whom thought of him as a healer and hero, there were those whom accused him of crimes. The Night's watch accused him of assisting Wildlings in getting over the wall, though the accusations were always regarded lightly as he was known to kill Wildling raiders.

The fourth had gone to the region of Essos. Phaedra was said to be a great beauty, a promising mage. But not long after her harrowing in Montsimmard, she attempted to kill her First Enchanter Vivienne. Her reason, 'spend years listening to that stuck up, self righteous bitch, then you'll know why.' The dark haired, blue eyed woman was something of a wild witch in the deserts of Essos. Until she was able to build a cult around her. This cult eventually grew into a mercenary army, Phaedra herself married a tribal king named Lander, and was said to have interrogated men with powders and gasses that could induce terrible hallucinations. Of all the mages in this part of the world, Bella was thankful that it was her daughter and not the others whom served the House Amell.

* * *

Essos

Qarth, a city James had visited in the past. When he was younger, he sought contracts from the lords of Qarth. Even the fabled House of the Undying asked a service of him. Back then, as Fausten Amell, he saw them as a fearful cult and wanted nothing from them. Instead he invoked a promise of future payment. Today was the day he intended to collect. Riding the carriage through the desert wastes, James could see the city in the distance. He looked over his shoulder and saw the unconscious princess, the prince placing a wet towel over her forehead, dripping a few drops of the water into her mouth. Vincent's short hair and now dirty features were a contrast to the pale skinned, long haired brat that James had first encountered. He seemed to have all but abandoned the Viserys persona that he had shown to him those months ago. Now, he looked more like a brother caring for his sick sister.

"Get us there Fausten," he said.

James could sense the grief in the young man's voice. But there was something else there too. He knew what it was, but he dared not cross the line and have the secret Targaryen reveal it yet.

"You must call me James when in the city, even when in the presence of the mages," James said, scoffing slightly at the last word.

"Are they anything like the mages of your continent?" Vincent asked.

"Nothing like them at all, they paint their fingers and their teeth, and their magic if one could call it that does not draw on any of the schools of magic they study in Thedas," James explained.

"But they can help Dany?"

"They're our best hope," James said.

They would not be alone, taking some of their troops with them. Qarth would not open their doors to an army, but an honour guard, with a promise to protect them for a reduced price was their ticket in.

"Qaartheens, called Milk Men by the Dothraki, you could tell why," James gestured to the natives of the city, many of them bearing complexions too pale considering the desert heat.

Vincent softly brushed the bangs of Danielle's hair away from her closed eyes. He ran his fingers through the strands, her roots were beginning to show. Carrying her on the stretcher with Asher, they and the other men and women with them followed James through the city streets.

"The official governing body of Qarth are the Enthroned, whom seat themselves in the Hall of a Thousand Thrones. But they contend for rule with the Ancient Guild of Spicers, the Tourmaline brotherhood and the Thirteen," James explained.

"The thirteen?" one of the merc troops asked.

"Still a merchant guild, but a powerful one, named because of the thirteen merchant princes that make up their council. They're businessmen, running a city can be a prosperous thing, especially when one can control the taxes and determine which businesses enter and exit. So the Purebloods want to keep their power because, tradition, the Ancient Guild of Spicers want more profits as does the Brotherhood and the Thirteen," the general continued.

"And what do the Undying want?" Vincent asked.

"Power, power and more power," James said.

"First we'll go to the House of the Undying, then we'll visit the Purebloods and afterwards the Merchant guilds. The one thing they can agree on is that they want to stop paying tributes to the Dothraki, we scouted a horde not far from here, no doubt they'll have learnt this," James explained.

"But the Undying will be able to help my sister won't they?"

"I understand your concern, we'll do everything we can to save her. But...something you'll have to come to terms with, no matter how much you hate it, is that there are some things beyond your control. The circumstances that led to your father's death being one of them, your mother's passing, a great many things. It was my wish for Danielle to know the Fade, I did not conceive the possibility that the soul I wanted to connect her to would be endangered."

"May I speak in private with you for a moment general?" Vincent asked.

James nodded to his men and they took the stretcher from the prince. Draping his arm over the young man's shoulder, James led him to an overlooked corner of the market.

"What was your plan there Fausten?" Viserys demanded.

"For Daenerys to meet either a potential ally...or a potential husband," Fausten said and Viserys gasped.

"Trying to play matchmaker, I see, you couldn't have our mother so you try to force my sister on your grandson," Viserys said.

"Must you make it sound so maniacal?" Fausten asked.

"She is to be my queen, my sister-wife as tradition demands, to keep our bloodline pure," Viserys said.

"A pure bloodline will not save your kingdom from the Baratheons and the Lannisters. Nor will it redeem the failures of your family," Fausten explained.

"The seven kingdoms knew peace under our family!"

"Except the Sister men's rebellion, the Dornish wars, the Faith militant uprising, the War for the Stepstones..."

"Yes I understand..."

"The Dance of Dragons, the Fair Isle rebellion, the Iron Island Succession struggle..."

"You made your point old man."

"Conquest of Dorne, the Blackfyre rebellions, the Peake Uprising, the Reyne-Tarbeck revolt and of course..."

"Robert's rebellion, yes, so..."

"So centuries of Targaryen rule and they were so peaceful weren't they?" Fausten asked smugly.

"Then why save us? Is it just for revenge and redemption?" Viserys asked.

"Mostly, but I told you what Joffrey was like, I told you what the nation is like. There needs to be change or it'll just be a constant wheel of conflict and political manoeuvres, I want to shatter the board that is the Game of Thrones. Now I admit I did try to manipulate your sister into meeting Daylen. But it was only my hope that they would...hit it off. The reality is that no two souls can be forced together, love cannot be forged by some wave of the wand. My second hope was that Daenerys would see the man my grandson has become, and that she would tell me what kind of man he is," Fausten explained.

"I cannot forgive it, but there isn't much I can do right now, I need you to save my sister," Viserys said.

"Then let us go my prince," Fausten clapped Viserys's shoulder and smiled. "Let's save our Dany!"

* * *

Unknown

Daenerys opened her eyes. She slowly rose, feeling bile in her stomach. She hadn't thought it was possible to feel sick in the Fade, but she felt well and truly ill. It felt as if something was crawling around in her stomach. The dread that filled her became more apparent as she looked at where she was. Viserys once described the throne of Westeros as a chair made from a thousand swords. Instead, she saw a twisted version of it, an opposite. Aegon took the swords of the defeated and burned them down.

But the throne Daenerys looked at was made from people's hands, all sown together to make a chair. As if Aegon had decided to cut off the sword hands of his enemies and use them as the building blocks of his chair. The flesh throne was in a grand hall, like the cathedrals that Fausten described to her. Blood stained the black and white panel floors. Daenerys drew the short sword from her waist, and found that the blade was dull. Knowing better than to call out, Daenerys made her way to the exit. The massive doors opened by their own will, and Daenerys gasped for air. Outside what Daenerys saw was a cathedral, the air was heavy, she could see a great smog in place of the clouds. There was light, but not bright sunlight, a cloudy day could make the world seem grey. But this world seemed to be lit by darker colours of blue and purple. The dirt beneath her crunched like snow, and as Daenerys advanced through the graveyard, she came across a hooded individual.

_"Another soul of beauty, come to this damning place,"_ his voice sounded dry and strained, as if the very act was agonising.

Yet part of him seemed accustomed to the pain. Daenerys drew closer, and saw that the man was carrying a shovel with a spiked shaft. His hands held the thorns with no care, the skin was dry and withered. Upon seeing his face, Daenerys recoiled in shock, the man had black eyes and withered skin.

_"It's rare for a mage to come here, not since the times of old, since the wolf, since those whom sought a golden throne...oh they found a golden throne all right," _the sound of his laughter was like nails on a chalk board.

"What is this place? The fade?" Daenerys asked.

_"Nonexistence we call it, the Void, pick whatever name you want, we don't care for it. Everything that comes here eventually ceases to exist, as I did," _the grave digger said.

"You were a person once?"

_"Was I? I don't know, don't much care really, I just dig, dig, dig the graves," _he turned to Daenerys with a hum.

She immediately put her hand to her sword, the man's arms clicked as he lifted them. One eye popped out of his socket as he made a box with his hands, measuring Daenerys. Like a snake, the sinew of the eye slipped the orb back into the socket. He then picked up the shovel and began digging a fresh grave.

"Others came here yes, was one a boy, possibly six or seven, red haired?" Daenerys asked.

_"You all start in a different place, but you all end up in the same place," _the grave digger said.

"And where is that?"

_"Nowhere!"_

Shaking her head, Daenerys walked past the grave digger and left the cemetery. Once past the gate, she looked upon her new surroundings and the path beyond her. She saw a gothic city where wraith like creatures gathered, beyond that she saw a crumbling castle that seemed to put itself back together again. And beyond that she saw a tower, and the distant shapes of winged creatures. It was as good a target as any to reach. But she would search for the boy.

'Remember all you were taught,' Daenerys told herself.

She felt uneasy about the path ahead and the figures on it. When she advanced further, she saw that they were robed figures. Their limbs were lanky, and when they turned their heads towards her, they revealed mouths filled with oily tentacles. Then they began to sprint towards her. Daenerys drew her sword, fear taking hold. The footsteps, the stance, they all faded from her mind as the creatures swung at her. She was barely able to block in time, stumbling onto her back. Quickly rolling to her feet, she blocked again, and again.

'Wait for the opening,' she reminded herself of the lessons Fausten gave her.

They were wild, flailing their arms about. Daenerys swung, tearing through the mouth of one creature. But another's claw caught her arm, cutting her sleeve. She felt more agony than she should have, falling and rolling to the floor. Aiming a kick for its knee joints, she felt it's bones break. But it didn't recoil in pain, it crawled on top of her. The creature's tentacle maw wrapped across the back of her head. With a scream, Daenerys grabbed her sword and smashed the creature across the head. Pulling away its tentacles, she stepped over the monster and bashed its head again and again.

Heavy breathes escaped her mouth. She had undertaken stamina, endurance and muscle training. She was not the lymph princess suitors no doubt expected her to be. But she still felt tired after the single encounter with the monsters of this world, this Void.

* * *

House of the Undying

Or rather just outside of it, James and his men waited for the Warlocks to allow admittance. Their vassal came in the form of one Pyat Pree, a pale man with blue lips and even bluer teeth. His skin and eyes made him seem like a creature to Vincent, even the hardened men beside him were put off by the warlock. James removed his helmet and slid his sword out of his belt. When the man nodded to him, Vincent did the same, taking away his sword and dagger.

"I knew you by a different name, a different face too," Pyat said, looking at James.

"You did, but the debt still stands, none of your tricks or you know the consequences," James said.

"Indeed we do, the Iron bank are not the only ones whom value debts. As for your charges, whether they return to us is up to them," Pyat explained.

He motioned for James and Vincent to follow him. They took hold of either side of the stretcher and carried Danielle towards the palace. The oval shape of the door, and the likeness of the human face on the wall made it seem as if they were walking through a maw. It was dark in the house of the undying, a result of there being no windows in the building. The only light came from the torches. Men in robes similar to Pyat's came out of one of the doors, bowing their heads.

"These men will take the girl and examine her, for now you will wait," Pyat said.

"As our host wishes," James said.

He sat first, and Vincent joined him not long after, nervously rubbing his hands together. There was a long wait, and an even longer silence. Vincent bit his nails, shook his knees, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

"You're afraid," James said.

Vincent lowered his head and let out a tired breath. He sniffed, wiping his eyes.

"I have not been kind to her," he said.

"You'd parted with all that was left of your mother, you were forced to flee, to house with sycophants feeding you visions of retaking your throne," James explained.

"Is that truly an excuse?" Vincent asked, glaring at James.

"I was willing to sell her, I would have let some savage horse lord fuck her, I would have let a whole horde fuck her if it meant I go an army to retake the throne. I've hit her, blamed her, through her I made myself feel strong...and made her feel like nothing," his shoulders shook as he wiped his face. "If she doesn't wake up, then I'll have lost my chance to make things right."

"If she doesn't wake up, I'll have something else to say sorry to Aerys and Rhaella when I meet them...I never made peace with my brother, not really. He trusted tradition, I didn't, he thought his will and convenience was better than the independent achievements of our family members. It never surprised me that Leandra eloped, especially with some apostate. Aristide apparently died of a wasting calling out for her, my older brother and I never even wrote to him. As for my son, I was harsher on him than I should have been, Maker he made me so proud that day.

"My son, whom defended Ironborn of all people, whom defended them from supposedly noble Stark and Baratheon men. He fought with just one man to support him!"

"One man?" Vincent raised his eyebrows in confusion.

"Oh yes, it's strange actually, it was only recently I recalled the reports. There was another with him that day, whom fought beside him briefly before fleeing. Still, at least someone stood with him, for however brief it was," James explained.

The door suddenly opened and Vincent stood, watching the robed man walk over to Pyat. They whispered amongst themselves before Pyat nodded and looked to James and Vincent.

"It is worse than originally feared, the girl is trapped, deep within the most deepest part of the fade. A place I suspect even the one whom created the Veil has no real knowledge of," Pyat explained.

"The one whom created the Veil?" Vincent scoffed.

"Many joke of our use of 'shade of the evening'," Pyat said.

"They aren't jokes, they have rotted and blued your teeth Pyat," James snapped.

"But drink it often enough and one does see and heart truths, which I suspect is why you brought Daenerys Targaryen here Fausten Amell, because you knew out of all the would be Maegi in this part of the world, we would be the only ones capable of helping you save her," Pyat explained.

"Yes," the Marcher dropped the facade and brought his hands to his hips. "The Princess's life is in your hands, I know your own intentions for her, but remember the debt, and what happens to those whom cross me!"

Pyat bowed his head and clicked his fingers. A dwarf servitor came out of one of the doors, carrying a slender crystal glass. It was filled with a blue liquid, 'shade of the evening', made from the blue leaves of the black barked trees that grew around the House of the Undying.

"Once, when magic filled this land, this place had a 'tear' of sorts in the Veil, it's why we set our home here, why we planted and grew the trees here. For along with the blue shade you see before you, even those of us not born to magic could connect briefly to the Fade, and have the smallest taste of magic," Pyat explained, taking the glass from the dwarf.

Vincent walked towards Pyat, taking the glass from him.

"What must I do to save my sister?" he asked.

"Your can be an anchor for your sister to return with, but be warned, she may already be dead. And if she dies in the Void, all that she was will be erased, even the very memory of her will be gone from your mind," the warlock explained.

"Whatever it takes to help her," Vincent said.

He tilted the contents of the glass down his throat, feeling Fausten's hands on his shoulders.

"I've taken the shade before Viserys, it will show you things, truths that may hurt you," he said.

"Then it is a good thing my hand will be there to guide me," the Targaryen smiled.

Fausten took the glass offered to him and drank. He gagged slightly when the blue fluid went down.

"Now, follow my directions carefully, you don't want to get lost here," Pyat said as he presented the two men with a doorway.

* * *

King's landing

Aristanna could only half heartedly play her flute that day, only tell a half way decent story the day after. Joffrey threatened to have her whipped for being boring, even his mother didn't oblige him the stupidity of his statement. Aristanna sat in the gardens and thought of the man she had seen in her dreams for so many nights now. She knew her long lost Cousin, perhaps better than his own companions. Knew the torment of the dreams he had, no, the nightmares of the Blight. And when he wasn't dreaming of them, he dreamt of his own self doubt. 'Am I a hero?' 'Am I good enough?' 'Is this decision right? Is that decision right?' So many things weighed on his mind and Aristanna felt like reaching out and embracing him. To have so much anxiety and self doubt, yet to still try anyway was something truly special. She understood better than Revka why such a term could be applied to her oldest son now.

'Daylen, now I truly want to meet you, but who knows now if I'll be able to meet you, please, don't die!' Aristanna hugged her flute as she shed a few tears.

"Ari, is everything all right?"

Aristanna opened her eyes and looked to her right. Around the bushes was the Princess Myrcella Baratheon, accompanied by Arys Oakheart and a couple of Lannister guards.

"Princess Myrcella, forgive me my mind was elsewhere," Aristanna said.

"It is all right, may I ask what is wrong?"

"I have been having dreams of late," Aristanna used the excuse she conjured, if she told the truth people may grow wary of her, or knowing people's thoughts on magic in Westeros they'd think her mad.

Part of her wanted to believe the latter, but each time the dreams became more vivid. Myrcella sat beside Aristanna and basked in the sight of the flowers around them, waiting for Aristanna to continue.

"Once I dreamed of the day my father died, his stand, I'm sure it was a romantic illusion, but I dreamt that someone helped him," she said.

"Someone did help him, briefly, you know, mother always said that Damion was foolish. But I don't think he was, I think he was the bravest knight in Westeros that day. Father admired him," Myrcella smiled as she spoke.

"I saw the man help him, I would like to meet him, to thank him for being there with my father in the end," Aristanna shared her friend's smile.

"Do you think he may be dead now?" Myrcella asked.

"I hope not, I can only hope not," Aristanna said.

"You know Ari, next time you dream, you should try calling out to him, that man who helped your father. At least in your dreams, you'd be able to thank him," Myrcella explained.

The idea made Aristanna think, such a thing could be possible. For she had a power that many feared. What the Tevinter called Somniari, she was a dreamer. But do the nature of the Veil in Westeros, no demon could approach her in her dreams. Yet again and again she was drawn to the life of her cousin, perhaps because he was often in all their family's thoughts.

'Even so far away my cousin, you are loved,' she thought.

"You are truly wise princess, thank you," she bowed her head and hugged Myrcella.

"I will always be glad to help, as I know you will always be ready to help me my friend," the princess said.

Aristanna parted with Myrcella and ran, ran through the corridors of the red keep to her quarters. And she dozed, dozed and put herself into a sleep.

Viserys walked through the halls of the House of the Undying. He was told that in the Long hall, he would see six visions through the door. Carefully he advanced, not wanting to look, but seeing those visions nonetheless. Fausten was right beside him, no doubt seeing visions of his own.

When Viserys came to the first door he stood on an island, and saw fleets of ships sailing across the water. There were so many that it was difficult to see. But he was drawn to the Heraldry set on the sails of the head ships. One ship showed a white and yellow shield, with two dogs on it. Another was a black flag with two red birds, their talons joined as one. One of the largest of the ships, grand in its structure had the symbol of a gold mask on the sail. A second had a crowned black skull with a flower on it. Another had a green sail, with a worm shaped black dragon on it, a smaller black snake was set over the dragon. The largest ship of all had a yellow starburst symbol on it, many of the ships beside it heraldry of a flaming sword. Finally, Visery's eyes were drawn to the smallest of the ships, a blue sail with a silver griffin on it. He looked at where they were going and saw a city he had nearly forgotten from his childhood, King's landing.

Viserys yearned to see home, and he wept slightly, that a vision gave him such a thing. Almost immediately, as if losing all control of his body he came to the second door. He immediately retreated, but the door was not there. He wanted to escape the bloodshed he saw. Monsters, he could only describe them as pale skinned monsters, slaughtering men in their path. Snow crunched beneath Viserys's feet and he looked through the snow. He caught sight of a silver blade, similar in design to Fausten's. The Knight who wielded it wore a blue coat over his silver armour, his face covered by his helmet. But Viserys's could see the red eye glowing through the hole of the helm. The knight turned, revealing behind him a red haired youth in a heavy fur cloak. He wore a crown atop his head, made of bronze, surmounted by black iron spikes. Across from him, resting his sword with the tip at the ground was a dark haired youth in black, his sword of Valyrian steel had a white wolf's head on the pommel. And there was a fourth amongst the group, a girl holding a rapier.

Having no idea how to react to this vision, Viserys again retreated, and stumbled out of the door, and straight into the next one. The third door was red, and Viserys found himself inside the house he and Daenerys once lived in. They were not in sight though, instead, Viserys saw Willem Darry, Master at arms of the Red Keep (formerly of course) and for a time their guardian. They stood with two more men, one of whom Viserys recognised for his Dornish features.

"Then it is agreed, the prince and the princess will marry?" Willem asked.

"Yes, so long as my niece becomes queen, and so long as we can take our revenge, then Dorne will join you," the Dornish man said.

He was pushed out of the door, and through into the forth. Viserys landed on a stone floor, and looked up at the skull of a dragon. Rolling to his feet, he gasped in awe. Again, a sight he did not think he would see. It was the throne room of the Red keep, where the famous throne was set.

"I'm home," Viserys whispered.

"They are sacking the city my king!"

Viserys looked towards where the voices came from. He looked at a man in a crown, nails long and sharp, body frail and beard dirty.

"Father," he said.

Aerys was flanked by a member of the Kings guard, dressed in the white armour, with custom pieces of gold in it. Jaime Lannister.

"Surrender, save the city and Rhaegar's family at least," the Lannister said.

"And what, accept the axe? Live out my days as a prisoner, a hostage king of those Baratheon brutes and your traitorous father. No, the traitors want my city," Aerys squeezed his hand into a fist.

"But I'll give them naught but ashes, let Robert be the king over charred bones and cooked meat, let them burn in the wild fire," he whispered.

"What?" Jamie looked at the king in shock and confusion.

A smirk spread across Aerys's face as he turned to the king's guard.

"Wild fire, Rossart placed caches of it in the catacombs, beneath the sept, underneath the streets and the red keep itself. A final contingency should enemies of the dragon try to take what is ours. They're all here, we will protect the Targaryan dynasty and end their pitiful rebellion," Aerys explained.

"Your grace," Jamie struggled to speak, like Viserys he struggled to comprehend the man's twisted logic.

"You are a member of the kingsguard, before the day is done, bring me your father's head," the king said. "Rossart, burn them all, burn them in their beds, burn them in their homes."

Viserys looked at his father in horror, and shook his head in denial.

"No, you can't mean it..."

"Burn them all," Aerys whispered.

"Our kingdom, our people," Viserys said.

"Burn them all!"

He saw the look in his father's eyes, the aggression, the lust for the fire. The way he whispered the words too told Viserys that he was anxious, desperate to see the flames. Jaime suddenly drew his sword, slashing through Rossart's neck. Aerys turned to run, and the sword slid through his back. The kings guard member seemed shocked, much like Aerys. Viserys stepped away and looked down at his father as he slid off of the blade.

"Burn them all," he kept saying.

The Lannister grabbed the king by his head and lifted the blade to his neck.

"FATHER!" Viserys screamed.

Just as the king's throat was slit, Viserys was thrown from the room. He wept and screamed, and with equal anger and grief, he moved forward. All of that pain, and it was just the fourth door.

* * *

Fausten walked through four doors himself, but he faced those visions with a null feeling. He saw the first time Leandra Amell met Malcolm Hawke. In the second door, he saw the day he made love to Rhaella and fathered their bastard son. In the vague vision of the third door, he was shown a chimera leading a pack of lions, feasting on stags. And in the forth, he too was exposed to the death of Aerys Targaryen, but he knew of those events already. Then, in a fifth door was a vision he clung to, for it was what he always wanted to see.

A young man in blue robes of the Ferelden circle. Brown haired, tanned skin, and a burnt arm. He was fighting a blonde haired man, an appendage of blood had sprouted from the man's shoulder. Fausten looked at the boy in blue and knew, this was his grandson.

Daylen snarled, pouring Earth magic into the blood arm. Suddenly, Leo's new appendage exploded, coating Leo and Daylen in blood. The blood mage yelled in agony as he fell back, clutching the hole in his shoulder. His eyes widened in pure horror as Daylen began walking towards him. Leo tried to punch Daylen across the face. But Daylen grabbed his arm, and ice suddenly covered Leo's wrist.

"Oh maker," Leo gasped.

Fire then charged Daylen's fist as he punched Leo across the face, throwing him back. Leo's burnt skin fell off, revealing a hide that resembled a Pride demon. He shook his head in utter denial, this wasn't supposed to happen, not to him. He was a prince, the son of a lion and a stag. That witch had promised him he would escape, that he would return and reclaim his destiny.

"You killed me," Daylen whispered, catching Leo's attention

He stepped back, terrified of this demon that Daylen had become.

"She died to keep me alive, if I die," Daylen's voice was strained, his eyes suddenly drifting to the floor.

Leo grinned, Daylen was still weak. He took a step forward, only to feel an intense pressure emanating from the half dead mage.

"If I die she'll have died for nothing," he snapped, waving his arm angrily.

"And I won't have that! Do you hear me? I WONT HAVE THAT!" Daylen yelled.

He raised his arm, light gathering into it until suddenly, a blade took shape. A mana blade, bigger and more intense than the one Leo had created.

'No,' Leo gasped in realisation. 'That blade, is more powerful than what even a trained Knight-Enchanter could make!'

Daylen pointed the blade at Leo, forcing him to take another step towards the wall.

"NO! NO! NO! NO!" Leo screamed.

The skin on his hands turned to scales and partially expanded. Horns grew out of the back of his head and his teeth sharpened into fangs, two small eyes appeared on the right side of his scaly face.

**"I am destined to be a king, I am willing to sacrifice anything, and anyone to achieve my destiny. To crush the weak under foot, because the way of the world. It is just how it is," **his voice was demonic, but still carried the desperation and delusions of a man who was so sure that he was right.

Electricity and mana gathered in his hands and he thrust them forward. Daylen braced his legs and held his mana sword out. The electricity clashed with his blade and the force that Leo summoned grinded against it, threatening to push Daylen back. But still he held firm, his sword shining brighter as he began to push forward with his arm. Gritting his teeth together, arm shaking, mana bursting from his body, Daylen released a roar. The electricity deflected from the blade, right across Leo's body, setting parts of it alight. He screamed, and the wave he had thrown at Daylen, was thrown back into him. The bricks behind him shattered, and the air hit his back. It was still a steep drop towards the lake, one that would break a human body.

Leo looked towards Daylen. The young man stood, holding his mana blade up. Leo shook his head, a final act of begging. The blade grew longed and shined brighter as Daylen brought it down. He yelled in fury and Leo screamed, the blade cutting a line over his chest, blood spraying from the wound.

**"NO! NO! I AM A BARAAAAGH!"**Leo screamed as he fell from the tower, straight towards the lake.

As the ripple from the splash faded, the mana sword disappeared. Daylen stumbled back, his arms going limp as the templars awoke from unconsciousness. His breathing got heavier and his vision began to blur.

"I did it uncle Damion, Neria, I beat the monster, just like a hero would," he whispered.

Fausten felt true pride, seeing his grandson overcome an obstacle in his past. He hoped that the House of the Undying would give him more opportunities to see the man his grandson had become.

Next Chapter 17: Into the Void

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, the Void was my idea of everything bad about the Fade, but much, much worse. Next time, Daylen's companions react to his continued slumber and the Grey Warden works on a way to chase after Connor.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A song of ice and fire

* * *

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 17: Into the Void

Tywin Lannister wiped the corner of his nose, disgusted by the state of Quentin's quarters. But he understood the need for such a man now. The Amells had completely changed the way wars would probably be fought in the future, and Tywin wanted to be ahead of the curve. Quentin had an assortment of ointments, candles and other herbs set out across the small room he had been given in Casterly rock. Jars were on the window sill with body parts and organs in them. Some of the tools were clean, but the cleanest thing in the room was a well kept portrait put on a type of alter. It was a striking woman, and judging by the flowers kept there, someone of importance to Quentin. The man himself worked at a table, mixing some of the potions on his desk together. He took a pouch from his belt, opening it and pouring blue crystals into the mix.

"What brings you to my corner today Lord Tywin?" Quentin asked.

"You say magic is real, that you used magic to produce our champion, whom still lost by the way," Tywin emphasised, frowning at Quentin as he spoke.

"I suspected you would need more proof, you Westerosi, the small folk fear magic because it can kill them...it is simple, easy to understand. But you nobles, you fear magic because it shows you just how powerless you are," Quentin explained.

"Careful...I could still use my power to have you thrown off of the rock," Tywin said.

"But then you'll never know, if your fears are warranted," Quentin smirked, producing a knife from his belt.

Tywin put his hand to the knife he kept at his waist. But much to his surprise, Quentin traced his blade across the palm of his hand. Squeezing a few droplets of blood into the bowl, he placed it on a fire. As the substance he produced boiled, Quentin gestured to a jar with a rat inside it. It was undoubtedly dead, its throat and eyes ripped open. Fumes rose from the bowl and Quentin breathed them in. He put his hand on the jar and Tywin narrowed his eyes at the green light spreading across it. The effect seeped into the creature, causing it to twitch. When Quentin removed his hand from the area, the rat's eye holes glowed green and it rolled onto its fours, teeth clattering, the exposed organs though didn't pump or work the way Tywin had read they did. He stared in shock at the creature, something that didn't often happen with him.

"What side show trick is this?" Tywin demanded.

"Not a trick, that which connects us to our power can temporarily be restored with certain chemicals, those crystals you saw, Lyrium, and I know where lyrium would be readily available to you," Quentin explained.

"Where?"

"The site of the worst massacre in the West of course, 'And who are you? the proud lord said, that I must bow so low,'" Quentin chuckled as Tywin's expression became stern.

* * *

_"Only a cat, of a different coat, that's all the truth we know!"_

The lyrics echoed in a region with a wet dirt floor. Daenerys hid amongst the rubble of that region, nursing the cut on her arm. Whatever this place was, the pain felt very real. As was the sight of the numerous rotted men and women walking a circuit around the wet region. Their hair floated as if they were under water. And they in unison sang.

_"In a coat of gold, or a coat of red, a lion still has claws and mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours!"_

Daenerys rose, making her way through the wet region, watching her footsteps. But it was virtually impossible to take a step without touching a puddle. It was the slightest touch that echoed enough for a few of the slower corpses to stop. They turned in the direction Daenerys walked, still singing the eerie song.

_"And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere, but now the rains weep o'er his halls, with no one there to hear." _

They walked after Daenerys, steadily gaining speed. She looked over her shoulder, seeing them following her, there was no desperation in their eyes, no lust or rage. They began running, their movements making it seem even more as if they were under water.

_"Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall, and not a soul to hear."_

Daenerys ran until she reached a ledge, overlooking a golden fortress.

_"And so I spoke!"_

The voice was closer, more coherent than the other corpses. Daenerys turned and saw a man standing before her. He had brown hair and a beard, both of which rose like in water. His skin was grey, chainmail and a white coat of arms showed him to have been a fighter. On his chest was the symbol of a red lion. A crossbow bolt stuck out of the man's back.

_"And so I spoke, the lord of Castamere, but now the rains, weep o'er my hall, with no one here to hear. Yes now the rains weep o'er my hall with not a soul to HEAR!" _he screamed.

He ran with the other drowned corpses. Left with no choice, Daenerys jumped for the closest window. Instead of falling onto a floor she slid down a slope. It took her into a chamber filled with gold. Only when Daenerys landed on the gold, she collapsed into water. Only the water was red, tasking the fluid on her tongue, and rising to the surface, Daenerys screamed. Blood had coated her body, and she frantically swam across the chamber of blood to a small island.

_"HA! river of blood got you too did it?"_

Daenerys gasped, rolling onto her back and brandishing her sword. The man sitting in front of her raised his hands in mock defence, a chuckle coming out in short bursts, alongside tears of blood. He was surrounded by blood soaked coins, the goblet he held seemed to refill itself every time he drank. Though his face was part rotted, it was also heavily bloated, just like the belly that had burst out of his doublet. A scratched out gold lion was embroidered on the breast of the shirt. He was surrounded by rotted cheeses and stale cakes, and he didn't hesitate to stuff handfuls of them into his mouth. There was no property, and he munched disgustingly on them.

_"So you met the drowned men, the grave digger, welcome to my hall little girl...wait," _the man leant forward, looking at Daenerys. _"You remind me of someone, or perhaps some family, what does it matter? HA!"_

He leant back on his pile of food, filling his belly with beer again.

Daenerys leant on her sword, using it to pick herself up. She kept it raised, cautiously walking around the man.

_"So serious, you should smile, laugh like me...but not too much," _the man's voice went from light hearted to hard from moment to moment. _"Be too forgiving and they'll ask for more, more, more, so much more that they couldn't possibly pay it back...your could forget the debt, yes, I did that...AND LOOK WHAT IT GOT US!" _he tossed his goblet aside and crawled towards Daenerys, grabbing her foot.

_"The laughing lion wanted no one to die, he laughed and drank, and was merry, and then his son flooded the mine, and now he weeps forever more! FOREVER HE WEEPS FOR WHAT HIS GOLDEN LION BECAME!"_

Daenerys kicked the man's face and rolled out of his grip. He clutched his face and cried, but Daenerys wasted no time in sympathy. She ran across the island, jumped over the tears of blood and onto a spiral staircase, though there were no walls around it. Forgetting the physics of it, Daenerys simply ran up, hearing the man switch between laughing and weeping. She ran high until she reached another floating island. This one had rubble on the ground and dust all around Daenerys.

_"Weak, so weak, I never should have tried to bed him of all the lions," _Daenerys carefully pointed her sword at the speaker.

A woman, her dress gold and red. She was covered in dust though, blonde hair dishevelled. She bitterly drank from a dirty cup.

_"Another 'poor' soul lands themselves in one of the seven hells, if this is one of them. Looking for something I suppose, as we all did," _she tilted the contents of the cup down her throat and sat on the throne like chair formed by the rubble.

"Were you all truly once human?" Daenerys asked.

_"We at least think we were, or hoped we were, hard to say which matters to us more at this point. Some of us retain just that slither of what we had been based upon. The rest of us become mere constructs, representations of what people saw us as in life," _the woman explained.

"I'm looking for a child, he was brought here against his will, a red haired boy," Daenerys said.

The woman hung her head low.

_"Red haired, my beautiful red haired boy, yes, I will help you," _the woman rose.

And much the Daenerys's shock, the rubble rose with her. The woman aimed the palm of her hand at the empty space beside her, and formed with the rubble around her a bridge that led Daenerys towards the city. She nodded her thanks to the dust covered woman and ran across her new path. The dust covered woman's eyes glowed red as she smirked.

* * *

Redcliffe

The Hawkes waited impatiently for news from the castle. Velanna told her father that the mages had enacted some kind of ritual, that the hero was a part of. Owen then told everyone at Bella's tavern, and Garret told his sisters, brother and mother. Bevin overheard and told his sister in the Chantry. People then began to prey, those in the Chantry prayed more for the safety of the hero of Redcliffe than they did the health of their lord and his son.

Inside the castle, Daylen's companions gathered at the door where Irving waited.

"What's happened?" Alistair asked.

"Magic," Sten growled, looking at Irving with suspicion.

"Has the Chantry made a mess of such a simple ritual to carry out?" Morrigan asked.

"I didn't see you in there helping Morrigan," Wynn retorted.

"Let Irving speak," Leliana commanded.

"Thank you child, Daylen remains in a deep sleep alongside Connor, every time we try to draw him out of it, he falls back into his slumber. He has in a way taken control of the ritual, casting aside our attempts to draw him out of the fade," Irving explained, an odd mix of pride for his student and concern over his actions was in his tone.

"What will happen if he remains asleep?" Zevran asked.

"Possession most likely," Morrigan said.

"And death at the hands of the Templars," Sten added.

"What if he dies in the Fade?"

"He'll be put into a state of half death, his body and mind incapable of acting in unison," Irving said.

"Can't you wake them both up?" Alistair asked.

"I have not told the Lady Isolde, but Connor has gone far deeper into the fade than we ever thought possible, there are sins that go beyond the hierarchy of demons in the fade," Irving explained.

"You don't mean that the boy has gone into the Deep do you?" Morrigan asked, showing a rare shock in her expression.

"The Deep?" Alistair looked at her in confusion.

"It is a rare occurrence in the Fade, when a spirit or demon takes a person's consciousness so deep into the fade that it can be considered its own world entirely," Wynn explained.

"And is there a way to free someone from this 'Deep'?" Leliana asked.

"I suspect Daylen is trying as we speak, and that that is why we cannot at least wake him," Irving said.

"He's going to willingly go into hell," Zevran said, his voice filled with awe.

"He'll lose himself," Sten muttered.

"Can we help him?" Alistair asked.

"There may be something we can do to aid his attempts to escape the Void, we could provide him with a life line of sorts," Irving explained.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Zevran asked.

"You tried to kill him once," Morrigan said.

"And what are your intentions for him Morrigan, there must be a reason you have stayed despite how much you have disagreed with him, it has to be more than about him simply giving you a book," Zevran explained.

"Enough you two, we need to focus, right now Daylen is giving everything he has to save a boy, we need to try and do the same," Alistair said.

Leliana nodded her head, "What must we do Irving?" she asked.

Beyond the door, Daylen laid in a deep sleep.

* * *

And in the Fade, he knelt on the floating island where he sensed someone had been taken. He touched the ground, red lines of light spreading across his body. Closing his eyes, he focused on the trail, using the spirits around him to determine the path Connor took. Deeper and deeper they went, and at that moment Daylen knew there was a chance he wouldn't come back. But he advanced anyway, his skin becoming like a shadow, again surrounded by that gold field, eyes blazing through the darkness. He dived through the floor, dived into darkness, dived through the roof of a church and landed amongst wraith like spirits. They screeched and flew away from his glowing form. But as soon as they had left the church, Daylen fell to his knees. His form returned to normal and he clutched his chest, feeling an immense pain.

'Damn it, what's happening?' he wondered.

He looked at his hands and saw that for a split second they faded.

'I see, that's what I risk by coming here, ceasing to be,' he shrugged and stood.

Daylen flexed his hand, adjusting the straps on his buckler. Then he drew the long sword from his waist and made his way out of the church. He looked at the gothic city in the distance, and the numerous floating platforms that would lead him to it. Daylen began to walk when he heard a disturbance of rubble behind him. He swung around, resting the flat of the sword on the edge of his shield, pointing the blade at the figures emerging from the shadows. Monsters, little children whose heads were just mouths with razor sharp teeth, lanky figures that bent and curled like snakes, and red robed women with beautiful faces. But when these women opened their mouths, worms flowed out, the tips of them resembled dead men. Men that laughed as Daylen adjusted his footing. The creatures rushed at Daylen, and he stepped back, dragging his sword against the ground. The ice spikes he formed impaled some of the child like creatures, and he swung his sword in a wide arc, cutting off the disgusting tongue of one of the 'worm women'. He brought his shield up and blocked one of the tongues. The force of the blow knocked him down the dirt path. Daylen rolled onto his knees, one of the 'teeth children' leapt at him and bit his shoulder. He yelled in agony as soon as the teeth made contact. It was a superficial cut, but it made his elbow go black. His arm felt numb, so he kept using it, shattering the creature's teeth with his shield before skewering it. With the child still attached to his sword, he cut through one of the women and battered another with the shield. One of the lanky men curled around him, pushing his arms against his chest. He yelled, impaling the creature with shards of rock armour. Dispelling his armour, he threw the shards as projectiles at the creatures around him.

A one minute battle, and he felt exhausted.

Yet still he moved onto the path ahead of him.

* * *

House of the Undying

Two more visions were waiting for Viserys. The fifth was a room where he saw his brother for the first time in years. Elia he knew a little less, but recognised nonetheless.

"You are the prince that was promised," he heard his brother say, raising Aegon up high.

Then his brother placed Aegon in Elia's arms and began to play his harp. Viserys had heard him play a few times, he'd nearly forgotten how good a player his brother was.

And finally the sixth vision, Viserys walked into the room and saw them, men and women carrying staves, all of them wearing a variant of robe that Viserys remembered Fausten once describing to him. They raised their hands, revealing signet rings bearing a broken circle symbol.

"Find us and we will teach you," they said to him.

They reached the gloomy chamber, and Viserys fell to his knees. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up at Fausten. The man had more of a look of satisfaction on his face than shock. Fausten knelt by Viserys, patting his back.

"Not long now, we need to keep going, once we reach the end, we'll be able to save your sister, now come," he pulled Viserys to his feet.

The pair looked upon the long table in front of them. A grey heart lingered over the table, pumping with the Undying underneath it.

"Three fires will light, one for war, one for vengeance and one for hope," one whispered.

"Oookay," Fausten muttered, moving Viserys around the table.

One of the chairs swung around, the Undying man opening his eyes and staring at Viserys and Fausten.

"Three mounts will be ridden, one to bed, one to dread, and one to hope," he said.

"We really must be moving on," Fausten said.

Another of the Undying blocked their path.

"The Griffin will betray for ideals, the wolf will be betrayed for gold, the lion will be betrayed by blood," he said.

He opened his mouth and screamed. Fausten and Viserys winced, closing their eyes for one moment. And when they opened their eyes, they were in some kind of tent. A fire was lit at its centre, there were many unarmed Dothraki around them. But their eyes were drawn to two light haired figures. A woman, her belly partly swelling, and a man with a sword aimed at it. Viserys grit his teeth together in anger, but gasped when he saw that it was him, holding the blade to his sister's gut.

"I want what I came for," his 'vision' Viserys said.

Fausten narrowed his eyes at the man witnessing this moment, Khal Drogo, as if he had never lost to his army.

"I want the crown he promised me," Viserys continued.

One of the Dothraki slaves whispered in Drogo's ear, translating for him.

"He bought you, but he never paid for you. Tell him I want what was bargained for or I'm taking you back. He can keep the baby, I'll cut it out and leave it for him," he said sadistically.

The real Viserys, or perhaps 'his' Viserys, Fausten thought, looked at his other self. He looked at the man threatening his pregnant sister, and felt both horror, disgust and self hatred. A silence filled the tent, and Drogo spoke.

"He says you shall have a splendid gold crown, that men shall tremble to behold," Daenerys said.

"That was all I wanted. What was promised," Viserys pulled his blade away and smirked.

Drogo walked to Daenerys's side, stroking her belly with an affection that surprised Fausten. Too many times he simply justified his breaking of Drogo. 'He's a monster', 'All Dothraki are.' But seeing this and what came next, he wondered if he had been wrong of his dismissal of the Khal. Drogo said something and two of his men grabbed Viserys, breaking his arms.

"NO! NO!" he yelled as they brought him to his knees. "You cannot touch me, I am the dragon, I AM THE DRAGON! I WANT MY CROWN!" he roared.

Drogo walked over to the fire, putting into the pot a gold belt. Fausten and Viserys watched this with the same dread that the 'vision' Viserys did. As the gold began to melt into the pot, Viserys screamed in agony and struggled in vain.

"Look away Khaleesi," a Westerosi man said to Daenerys, but she brushed him aside.

'Wait, what the fuck is Jorah Mormont doing there?' Fausten wondered.

"Dany," the snivelling Viserys looked to his sister. "Tell them...make them," he spoke hysterically, true fear in his eyes.

Drogo seemed pleased with the progress of the gold, holding the wooden handles of the pot and lifting it away from the flames. He walked over to Viserys, holding the pot steady.

"DANY PLEASE!" Viserys screamed.

"A crown for a king," Drogo said as he tipped the pot over Viserys.

He screamed as the gold flowed onto his head, coating it. Even as it solidified he was still screaming, his hair melted away. Then he fell with a thud and all became silent. Daenerys stood there, eyes fixed on her dead brother. And the eyes of Fausten and Viserys fell on her, shocked by her distant gaze.

"He was not a dragon, fire cannot kill a dragon," she said.

* * *

Daylen had his hand to his face, his eye wide in horror. That vision had suddenly bombarded him, why had he witnessed a man threatening his pregnant sister. True he deserved to die for that, but he couldn't shake the unease he felt from that woman's face.

"What was with that drunk look?" he asked.

But he could not further fathom the vision as he slipped, falling down a snowy hill. He landed, hitting his head, blood coming out of the wound. Daylen leant against his sword to pull himself up. There were trees on the path ahead. Trees with faces on them, actual flesh and blood faces that cried and wept. Daylen shook the bloodied snow out of hair and walked past the trees, ignoring the weeping faces as best he could. His sword fell out of his hand and looked at his hand, part of his glove had come off, revealing a decaying bit of skin.

Yet still he walked on.

Daylen dragged the sword behind him, taking a slash to his back. He grit his teeth together and looked towards what had attacked him. A massive wolf, a direwolf as he recalled. Only it had a sword in its mouth, and it was made of human skin. More came out of the snow and Daylen yelled as they howled. He swung his arms wildly but accurately, cutting every wolf that got in his way. One bought him to his knees, but with fire rising from his shoulders he generated a circle of fire that burned the wolves around him. Again rising to his feet, he cut through the last wolf's mouth, slicing it blade clean through the body.

"Connor," he whispered, reminding himself again and again of why he was here.

The city became more distant to Daylen. The path ahead seemed endless to him, it was no longer snow but water. He was walking across that water, and when he looked down he could see creatures beneath it. They were like men, but their skin was scaly, eyes and lips like fish with fins and gills on their necks. Then there was the tailed creatures, mer-'certainly not maids', just bloated, saggy breasted creatures with hair. A sharp pain surged across Daylen's left arm, he looked at his elbow and saw that the skin on it had fallen off like flakes of burnt paper.

"Move," he told himself.

When he took a step forward, men rose from the water. Men in robes, their eyes red and staring at Daylen. But the heads of the men were that of squids. Suddenly they rushed towards Daylen. He spread flames across his blade, but one of the priests extended tentacles from his hand, soaking the blade with water and binding Daylen's wrist. They slammed into Daylen, grabbing him by his arm, bringing him to his knees. One wrapped tentacles around his neck and grabbed him by the head, dunking it into the water. Daylen struggled, trying to swing his blade at them, trying to knock them back with his shield. The other creatures in the water tugged at his hair as struggled, trying to pull them in towards him.

The people in Connor's room looked at Daylen in horror. He was flailing, spitting water out of his mouth.

"DAYLEN!" Leliana screamed.

He yelled, the cry gargled like he was in water. Teagan tried moving Isolde out of the room, the woman had her hand to her mouth. Even in the past few days she had never seen a man suffer as Daylen was.

"What can we do? WHAT CAN WE DO?" Alistair yelled at Irving.

Irving seemed frozen, looking at Daylen's flailing and screaming form. Sten suddenly pushed past them and raised his great hands over his head. He slammed them into Daylen's stomach, making him vomit.

Daylen breathed sharply, bringing his head out of the water and yelling. Electricity surged through the wet priests, electrocuting them. One sizzled, another's head exploded when Daylen grabbed him. The electricity passed through the water, killing many of the creatures that had been close to Daylen at the time. He ran, as fast as he could across the water, not willing to waste another second in that drowned hell. The city, he could see the city in the distance, yes he was almost there.

'Connor,' again he reminded himself why he was enduring all of this.

He was almost there, the city was in his sight. One more step, and he fell. Fell off a ledge, down a waterfall.

"FUCK!" Daylen's scream echoed through the Void.

* * *

Daenerys raised her head, she could have sworn she had heard someone yell just now. But she continued on the path that the woman had made for her. Her help had allowed Daenerys to finally reach the city. It was a spectacular site, greater than Essos, and from what Fausten and Viserys had described, perhaps greater than King's landing. The spires were as grand as any cathedral, spires was something all of the buildings had in common, they all seemed other worldly, as if they had been taken from a time Daenerys knew she would not experience.

'So beautiful, yet so terrifying too,' she thought.

She walked through the streets, seeing market stalls with faceless merchants. They were offering rotten apples, maggots crawling out of them, skinned pigs, still wiggling on hooks, and goods like vases and pots made from human skin. Yet it was the faceless people on the streets that made Daenerys quiver, that made her afraid to walk into certain alleys and down streets. Faceless people, Daenerys wondered if that was how the nobles of Westeros, of the entire world saw their lowborn. She would listen to Fausten talk about the differences between nobility and commoners with such disdain. Clearly he did not see them as different from one another, men and women, creatures of blood and failures, bound by the same superstitions and limits. All of them could still burn, still die.

'Is that what you want Fausten? To break the wheel?' Daenerys looked up at the rooftops of the city.

A cloak fluttered in the distance and drew Daenerys's gaze. He was standing on a narrow bridge between two of the buildings. Leather boots and gloves, a black waist coat worn over a dirty white shirt. His outer coat was black and ran down to his legs, then there was the short cloak, worn around his shoulders and linked together by a silver chain. Daenerys could not see his face, it was covered by a black scarf and a hat. Such a unique hat, a tip that stretched past his head and the end of it curved, resembling horns. He held a scabbard with a sword sheathed in it. Daenerys took a few steps back as the man looked down at her. He tilted the tip of his hat, exposing glowing red eyes. Then, with a flap of his cloak, he disappeared.

'Such terrifying eyes, and a dreadful presence, as if I truly looked upon a devil in human form,' Daenerys put her hand to her heart as she walked.

Though the path to get to this city had been frightening, Daenerys felt true fear with each step she took. Rats scurried on the road, but they had the same eyes as that man. And they seemed to follow Daenerys. Droplets of a fluid began to drop onto the streets, pelting Daenerys like rain. When Daenerys looked at her hand, she saw that the rain was blood. A deluge that became more intense with each step Daenerys took. Rain was rare on Essos, it felt like it was going to overwhelm her, crush her. She looked up again and saw on the roof the red eyed man. His eyes flared through the darkness of the storm. Daenerys went into one of the buildings for shelter, looking at the blood that had stained her clothes. But slowly, the blood began to rise, to float to the ceiling. A sudden warmth enveloped Daenerys, and candles began to light up the room.

One by one the candles illuminated the cracked floorboards, the steps leading to the upper floors, chipped wardrobes and half broken tables. Then the fireplace glowed with green fire, revealing a chair sat beside it, and a hunched, cloaked figure. Daenerys could make out the withered features of a woman's face, and strands of white hair. Her bony fingers caressed the fur of a black cat.

_"'Well, well', she said, 'what do we have here?' she asked," _the woman spoke in her strange tone, and even stranger pattern.

"Who are you?" Daenerys demanded.

_"The old woman was just another denizen of the darkness, where the princess treaded, ignorantly, her determination waning, 'You have come into my home, seeking shelter yes, you'll find only madness here little princess,' the old woman said!"_

"I will not succumb to it," Daenerys retorted.

_"'I will not succumb to it,' said Aegon, 'I will not succumb to it,' said Baelor, 'I will not succumb to it,' said Maegor, 'I will not succumb to it,' said Aerys. Yet they succumbed they succumbed, the madness set in their seed and their blood, a curse on the line, a curse on the family, yet always there is the choice. What choice will the princess make?"_

"I will save a boy taken against his will," Daenerys said.

_"'Oh a hero,' the old one said, 'Like Duncan, Arthur, Aemon, Fausten, Marric, Loghain, all just butchers, their achievements blood and widow's tears,' 'But they were heroes, the truest of knights, great warriors, protector of kings, kings themselves, kingmakers' , said the princess 'and what kings they had, what kings they made,' the old one retorted and laughed, 'HO, HO,HA!'"_

"He was taken, by a woman in a white robe," Daenerys said.

_"'Then consider the boy forever lost, and yourself too,' said the old woman, 'this place can insight madness, more than madness, darkness, it will fill you, it will consume you, you will become darkness,' she felt pity for the girl, for the boy too, and for the brave fool that dived into darkness, himself already falling victim to it,' said the old woman."_

"You mean there really is another here?"

_"'Oh yes, another, with an arm marked by the darkness,' the old woman said. She smiled and pointed to the back entrance of her house, it would lead to an alley the princess could take. And that alley, if the princess endured the horrors there, would take her to the grand cathedral, where the sister sits in wait, where the boy's soul resides, to be broken, to be taken, or to be freed, it is in the actions of the few that will decide such a thing!"_

The old woman pointed her finger at a nearby door, and that door opened. Daenerys, despite her fear walked through, and stepped out into an alleyway.

* * *

Redcliffe

Irving stirred the bowl, filled with the crushed lyrium, mixed with the elf root and milk. It formed a paste, and with continuous stirring it became a smooth paint. Alistair and Leliana stood over Daylen and Connor. Joined by Zevran, they rolled up their sleeves as Irving dipped a brush into the bowl. He drew on their skin marks, runes for the spell he would cast.

"Short moments, that's all, we cannot afford to lose others, he needs a tether, we must provide it," Irving said.

"Daylen won't fall, he will endure, it's what he does best," Alistair said.

"But it helps when he has friends to pick him back up," Leliana smiled.

"Stubborn one that he is, sometimes he needs us to come to his aid," Zevran chuckled.

"What are friends for?" Alistair asked.

Irving smiled, his heart content that Daylen had good people to help him on his journey. As well as proud that he had inspired such loyalty from his party. But there was still that niggling fear with the First Enchanter, the fear that it would take great sacrifice to save Daylen. He wondered what would be lost in this gambit of theirs? Connor or Daylen, he didn't which one would last, but the chances of both surviving were slim. But if it came down to it, Irving knew whom he wanted to survive.

'Survive my student, my friend, my son!' Irving thought, and prayed.

Next Chapter 18: Darkness's grip

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, I did some research for the denizens of the Void. They're not entirely original, but based on past figures in Westeros's history, and two deities.

Next time Daylen and Daenerys finally meet, and Viserys and Fausten explore the visions of the Undying.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A Song of Ice and Fire

* * *

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 18: Darkness's grip

The Reach

Leo woke up on the road, the travelling companions he had gained all resting with him. A brigand whom he had convinced to follow him, a small person (Leo refused to call him a dwarf, he wasn't one after all) whom had been part of a group of travelling performers, a lady thief who was unlucky enough to pick Leo's purse. Then there was the Northerner, the cleric and the deprived man. Leo found him on the road, robbed, stripped and left for dead. He carried the man on his back to a nearby inn, gave the innkeeper gold and instruction to bath and treat the man with Elfroot, he also gave him a few days worth of silver for a room. It took Leo back, but with the help of a hedge knight and falconer, he tracked down and killed the bandits. Such a thing felt good to Leo, not just the act of killing, but why he was killing them too. It felt like justice to him.

"I think it's time," he said.

The hedge knight, falconer and the deprived man had joined him too. The deprived man had been gifted by Leo with black leather armour and boiled boots and gloves. He regarded Leo as the others did, with respect, and a small growing reverence. Leo put his hand over the fire, and it began to burn brighter, illuminating the camp. Borosi was with the knight, the red priest and the two women from the Fingers.

"Dig in everyone," he threw a red stone to Borosi.

Red Lyrium, they all held the stone that they had been gifted with. They all crushed it with whatever tools they had. Then they proceeded to slide the particles down their throat, using their hands, a stone. Even the deprived man sniffed the red lyrium through his nose, he had nothing else after all. Leo sat close to the fire, petting Omega's fur as his companions revelled in the high. Some began to strip and kiss, and when it became apparent that some sort of orgy would occur, Leo left the camp so they could enjoy themselves. He walked up to a hill with Omega, where he would rest, enjoying the sight of the stars. Blocking out the moans and laughter, he thought of the red haired woman, the lady in the lake.

'Hand maiden of Revka Amell,' he mused, stroking the scar over his eye.

Every time he walked past a body of water, every time he felt an itch in his eye, or put on his armour, he was reminded of that encounter. He shook thoughts of the girl away and focused on sleeping, curling up and stroking Omega. The Blight influenced his dreams, continually bombarding him with the call of the Archdemon, and the advance of the horde. When morning came, Leo walked to the forest where his quarry was lying. Through villages he walked, listening to the stories of the rise of the House Tyrell. Stewards to a greater house.

* * *

Daylen grit his teeth together as he rolled onto his front. Water fell onto his feet, some sort of waterfall. Standing, Daylen rubbed his shoulder and groaned. It had been quite a fall. There was a stench in the air, unpleasant, he wasn't familiar with the feeling of hay fever. But he recognised the scent of flowers, only this was more concentrated. Daylen walked onwards, wading through a pond before he climbed onto land. In contrast to what he had seen before, the land was green with fresh grass. Petals flew in the wind and Daylen heard the sounds of field labour. Men with hollow and bony skin reaped over fields of gold plate roses. Daylen walked next to the field, keeping his guard up in case the hollow men turned their scythes on him. A man in a white hood enthusiastically dug at the roses, ripping them out with his hands. Daylen saw the man's hands, they were green, like moss with small branches on them. When the man turned to him, Daylen saw a handsome man, but with a vine across his face, and branch antlers extending from his head.

_"One fucking weed after another, we pull and pull and pull, yet still the thorny bastards never leave it, it's our garden, OUR GARDEN!"_ the man yelled.

Daylen turned away from him, checking the area for any places he could climb to get back up to the city.

_"Grow weak please, grow weak, STOP GROWING SO FUCKING STRONG!"_

'Growing strong', Daylen remembered a letter from his family about a Westerosi house with a motto like that. He shook his head though, there couldn't be a connection.

_"If you're looking for the boy, you might want to check the cathedral," _the man said.

Daylen quickly turned towards him, conjuring fire in his hand.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded.

_"The cathedral, it's where the mother above always takes them, children, the father above can't see her do to them what she will," _the man said.

"And what will she do?" Daylen asked.

_"Much worse than what is being done to you good sir," _the man stood and mock bowed, gesturing to Daylen's face.

A piece of his skin flaked and Daylen cursed. He would fall apart in this place if he didn't find Connor soon.

_"Yeah, it's what happens to anyone who doesn't belong here, or you just lose yourself. We held on, until we fucking burned, hurt like hell. But what hurt more was the betrayal, we could have fought, we should have fought, fuck the dragons, but no, no, the fucking golden roses," _the man kicked the roses in anger.

"Golden roses, you couldn't mean, the Tyrells?" Daylen asked.

The man's eyes widened and he became silent. He seemed distant, as if frozen. Then he chomped his teeth together, breaking them. His branch horns stretched and he flailed. His robes burned, revealing that some of his flesh was made of burning tree bark.

_"We defeated the dragon host, then their mounts came down and BURNED US! BURNED UNCLE! BURNED OUR COUSINS! BURNED ME!"_

He took a step towards Daylen, trying to grab him. Daylen let out his ice magic, extinguishing the flames on the tree man. That seemed to calm the tree man down, and he shook his head, leaves falling out of his hair. He straightened his posture, appearing more dignified.

_"But I did not die, I did not die, until three days later, three days later when I said to the steward, 'I have made my mark, the dragons will not forget the green hands, it is time to bow,' 'yes, my king,' the steward said, the steward smiled, the steward laughed, and then he smothered me with my own fucking pillow...the Tyrells, yes, the Tyrells, filthy liars, USURPERS!"_

"History seems to remember that the last king of Highgarden died of his burns," Daylen said.

_"Of course they do, because the golden roses got to write history, who would follow someone who murderer their lord? Oh sneaky Tyrells, bet they're still sneaky," _the tree man snarled.

* * *

Highgarden

Leo ran his hands across the ground, whilst Omega sniffed at it. Red markings spread across his hand when he saw what he was looking for. He grinned, a grave like this for a king. It had taken him some time in both the Fade and the shit hole that was the Reach. Oh it was peaceful, summery, but the high born deluded themselves into thinking they were honourable, benevolent. Yet they still held their lavish suppers and gave the scraps to the people. Scraps, it was a slap in the face to all those in the dirt to be given charity by people they despised.

'That delicious hatred is why my plan is going to succeed,' Leo grinned.

He dug with the shovel, dug and dug, lifting the dirt over his shoulder, digging until his hands got blisters on them. Omega sat curled on one of the tree branches, looking down at Leo.

"I'm glad you're comfortable," Leo huffed and the Direcat simply purred.

Then Leo saw it, the bones.

"Finally," he whispered.

He took his knife from his belt and dragged it over his palm. Droplets of blood went into the dirt and Leo added to the mix the red lyrium. The spark of magic was enough, and the blood was enough to bind it. Something began to grow, roots came from the ground and slowly twisted and span like a yarn.

* * *

The Void

The tree man suddenly screamed, and Daylen looked at him in horror. There was a red glow across his body, and he yelled so loud that the ground began to shake.

"What's happening?" Daylen demanded.

_"VIOLATION! VIOLATION! WE GREEN KINGS WILL NOT BE THRALLS!" _the man screamed.

The ground began to rise and Daylen fell onto a tree branch, he looked at his surroundings and saw that what he had been standing on was the top of a great tree. It grew and grew, expanding like a bubble. Daylen was thrown from the branch, towards one of the buildings in the city. He crashed through a window.

Redcliffe

Daylen yelled, cuts spreading across his arms, legs and face. Irving grit his teeth together, knowing that despite how much Daylen struggled and screamed, they had to persist or he would be lost forever to them.

'Fight on my son,' Irving's thoughts and prayers were with him.

Highgarden

Leo raised his hand, his puppet of roots and bark grew and formed. The tree bark hardened into green plate armour, with leaves forming the fabric underneath. A face formed, and a crown of roots and branch like horns appeared on top of green leaf like hair. Leo looked upon the taller tree man he had summoned, looking upon the symbol on its shoulder cloak. A green hand.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, King of the Reach, Meryn Gardener the ninth," Leo said.

He lowered his hands, and his thrall knelt, resting on the ground an axe with a tree branch handle.

The Void

Daylen put his hands to his eyes, yelling as he saw something. A face that was so familiar.

"Impossible, Leo's dead," he snarled.

He dragged his feet across the room, leant against the wall and watched as the skin and muscle across his right hand disappeared, revealing a bone hand.

"Connor, save him," he said to himself.

He could still make a fist with the bone hand, he could still walk. Continuing onwards, he walked down a flight of stairs. He came to a living area. A crone sat on a chair close to the fire, and pointed at a door to the side. Daylen walked through it and heard the sound of battle. The screeching of opponents. He rushed forward and stopped a few feet from where the battle was taking place. A young, dark haired woman was swinging a blunt blade at rat men. They had the faces and teeth of rats, but walked on curved legs and swung clubs and maces at her. She was a reasonable swordswoman, but clearly newer than Daylen was. Carefully examining the streets, and the position of the rats, Daylen focused and aimed his magic.

Fire passed over Daenerys's head, striking at the rat that leapt at her. Then the fire swirled around her, consuming the other two. The fourth rat ran back and snarled, jumping from wall to wall. But the fire rushed towards it, burning its shoulder and knocking it off course. It fell at Daenerys feet and she raised her sword, yelling and striking the creature's neck with all her strength. The rat's neck broke and Daenerys cautiously turned towards the mage whom cast that fire spell. She looked upon the half flaking face of a man who looked as if he was half dead. But that was only for a moment, she then saw clearly his real face, his hair, scarred and burnt features. Even without that though she saw his red eyes.

"Daylen, Amell," the words came out of her mouth like a whisper.

* * *

House of the Undying

Viserys had been quiet since the vision. Visibly horrified and in shock, he remained a passive ghost through the next vision. And it was a long one, one that took them from one ship to another. A massive fleet of ships that bore the black sail and red dragon of the Targaryen house. But they had with them the red eagle of House Amell, the gold rose of House Tyrell, the golden lion of the Lannisters and the gold spear through the red sun of the Martells. Then upon a field they witnessed a battle between soldiers of these houses fighting with white robed and black armoured soldiers. Men fell to their knees, fire and electricity suddenly glowing in their hands. Fausten recognised the design of the armour the Westerosi enemies wore. They were soldiers of the Tevinter Imperium, statues of Imperium masters were being toppled, and chantries and towers alike burned.

"Is this what will be, or what could have been?" Fausten wondered.

An answer came in the form of the king and his guards. Clad in black armour, the three headed crown of a Targaryen king imbedded in the helm, the king cut through legions of the Tevinter soldiers. His guards all too, Fausten saw the custom gold markings of a Lannister amongst the white cloaks. Then when the soldiers had finally fallen, one of the guards lifted up his helmet, revealing dark eyes and darker hair.

"Jon Snow," Fausten identified the man.

Another guard removed their helmet.

"Dayk," Fausten gasped.

Finally the king removed his helmet, and revealed a silver haired youth.

"For you father," he whispered.

"Could that be whom little Aegon may have become?" Viserys asked.

"What would Rhaegar's ambitions have been if he defeated Robert?" Fausten wondered.

A white light consumed the two men, and they were on the Trident, watching the rubies fly from Rhaegar's chest. Viserys looked away, gritting his teeth together as he heard Rhaegar mutter his last words.

"Lyanna!"

Then came crying, and Viserys found himself standing in a crowd. A woman held a stone girl closely, beside her was some jester with patches on his face, then there was the hooded swordsman next to her, holding in one hand an Elvhan sword with a green blade. There was a mob, led by a woman in red.

"A priestess of the lord of light," Fausten seethed.

Light emerged from the wall, the great wall of ice that the Night's Watch guarded. When that sun rose, they were watching a griffon banner fluttering amongst cheering crowds. Then another light flashed in their eyes and they saw a Mabari hound running through fields. Both were suddenly in the water, looking at a ship. That ship had a corpse on the prow, bright blue eyes and grey lips twisted into a smile. There was a great cry, and Fausten and Viserys widened their eyes. They were in a desert, looking up at three dragons flying in the sky. One small and cream coloured, with gold leather on the wings and scales on the belly. Another was slightly bigger, and green with yellow on the wings. Then there was the bigger one, a black scaled dragon with white quills across the back of its head. The sky began to darken, something blotted out the sun. The sight horrified Viserys more than watching his own death, it was an army of drakes and drakelings flying with the three dragons.

Instead of light, darkness swirled around the two men. They were now in a tent, some hellish scream echoing in their ears. When the darkness moved on, it passed into someone standing in front of Fausten. He watched his grandson, wearing silver armour, falling to his knees. The darkness seeped through the red armour on his arm, the limb shaking as he yelled in agony. Darkness rose from Daylen's body, forming the silhouette of a red eyed dragon lingering over him. Fausten tried to reach out for Daylen, but the image passed again.

"Daenerys," Viserys called out.

Light stun Fausten's eyes again and he looked to the prince. Viserys was staring at a white haired girl, who was running to a house with a red door.

"That, was where we lived for the longest time, it truly felt like a home," Viserys said.

"What happened?" Fausten asked.

"Our guardian died, the servants tried to kill us, maybe to take what we had, or because they were paid to by the usurper," Viserys shrugged.

He had the shadow of tears in his eyes, turning away from the house and from Daenerys's happy laughing. A moment passed and the sky darkened, fires were burning. Viserys was horrified when he saw Dothraki men, women and children being butchered.

"Are those, our men?" he asked.

"Yes," Fausten said.

"What is this Fausten?"

"A vision of what I intend to do," Fausten said.

"Intend to do? Attack the Dothraki?"

"No, kill the Dothraki, every single one of them, a genocide!"

There was regret in Fausten's eyes at least. But the casualness in his voice disturbed Viserys. When the flames died down, a man in silver armoured appeared. He had blue robes on his lower legs, a helmet with wings on the side of it, his face half covered by a beak visor. A red staff was in his hand, and the hand that wasn't holding the staff was covered by grey, brown and red armour.

"Daylen?" Fausten looked at the seemingly older version of his grandson.

He saw in front of the silver warrior a pair of dead eagles, a dead black bird, and a dead robin. Tears of blood fell down the warrior's face.

"What does this mean?" Fausten demanded, looking up at the sky. "WHAT DOES THIS MEAN!" he yelled.

There was an explosion and Viserys and Fausten were knocked back. The silver warrior clashed with a warrior in red and gold, swinging a hammer with a sickle blade at the back of it. Packs of Mabari hounds and wolves attacked lions and stags around them. Another light shone in the eyes of Fausten and Viserys and they looked upon the silver warrior again, this time stood back to back with a man in red armour, wielding his flaming cross spear. A man who had the unburnt, unscarred face of Daylen Amell.

"What can be," Fausten gestured to the warrior in red. "And what may come to pass," Viserys noted something in Fausten's voice when he looked at the silver warrior, disappointment?

He wasn't sure, he just knew that these visions were fading, and he was beginning to feel his sister's presence. Her, and someone else.

* * *

Daylen stared at the woman in front of him. She looked like the woman from that vision, the woman whom seem enamoured, even fascinated by her brother's death. Now there was a fear in her eyes, but a drive too. Often Daylen asked himself if his drive was just insanity? What made his drive even greater than another's, his intentions greater than another's. He could see in this woman's eyes her own sense of dangerous self righteousness.

'Perhaps I'm the same,' Daylen thought briefly.

"We have to move onward," he said.

"What are you?" Daenerys demanded.

"Human like you, I suggest you leave this place if you can," Daylen said, walking towards Daenerys.

She raised her sword defensively, but Daylen simply walked past her.

"I don't have time for you, a child's life is at stake," he said.

"Don't turn your back to me, I am..."

"I don't care who you are, I just told you, a life is at stake," Daylen snapped, glaring over his shoulder at Daenerys.

The way his skin flaked disturbed Daenerys. Then she realised this representation of his body was falling apart. Perhaps in the waking world, another form of death awaited him. Yet still he pushed onward, punching one of the rat demons as if it was an annoyance.

'Connor, Connor, Connor,' Daylen thought as the clothes and flesh on his back fell off.

His leg shook, his the skin on his knee crumbling.

'Connor, Connor, Connor,' he thought of the boy's name.

His right eye exploded in a mist of red, leaving only darkness.

'Amelia,' he remembered the little girl taken by the demon.

'Surana,' he remembered the woman whom gave her life.

Gritting his teeth together, Daylen moved forward through a town square, moving towards the grand cathedral. Daenerys walked behind him, gently touching his shoulder.

"For a child's life," she said.

They opened the cathedral doors together and looked at the dusty and dark worship area. The tiles were black and white and had cracks in them, the stools had been covered by human skin. Daylen looked across the room, and saw Connor. He was sat down, hugging his knees. Standing over him was the woman with the white robe, the Mother. Then there was the stranger with the hat. He drew his sword as Daylen began to approach.

"Connor, I will...Connor," the skin on Daylen's jaw fell off, revealing bone.

Daylen shook his head and broke off into a run. Even as his legs turned into bone, he kept on running. Fire and lightning crackled around him as he threw these attacks at the demonic figures. Daenerys watched this man fight with everything he had. The Stranger was fast, darting around Daylen like a shadow. And the Mother, she was almost flying around the cathedral, swinging the sleeves of her robes. When they made contact with the ground, they left deep slash marks on them. Daylen dodged and summoned ice to form makeshift shields. He set his feet down and threw both his hands forward, releasing fire from his hands. The cloud of flames slammed into the blast of light the Mother threw. Then the Stranger appeared behind Daylen and swung his sword at him. Daylen turned, barely dodging in time. He threw a stone fist, throwing the stranger into the wall. But the Mother caught Daylen's back with one of her blades.

"ENOUGH!" Daenerys yelled.

She ran and swung her sword at the Mother, only for the woman to throw off her robes. The cover left Daenerys blinded, and a blade burst through the robe, covered in blood. Daenerys fell back, out of the white robe and looked at the person covered by it. Daylen threw off the robe, his single eye glaring at the Mother. She was a grotesque parody of a mother, steel was imbedded within the back of the woman's head, her strands of hair was bolted onto her scalp. She was thin yet nimble, with saggy breasts and a burst open belly, blades were fused to her arms. Daylen kicked the woman back, the blade coming out of his chest. He stretched his arms out, driving the Mother and Stranger back with fire and lightning respectively.

"Daylen," Daenerys said.

Daylen instead looked towards Connor, a clear message for Daenerys. She stood and ran towards Connor. The Stranger jumped towards her, only for Daylen to suddenly traverse the distance, propelling himself with magic and head butting the swordsman. The Mother crawled on all fours towards Daenerys, bending back to poke her belly out. It expanded like a maw, chords coming out to wrap around Connor. Daenerys grabbed the boy and snapped the chords with her blade.

"You have to wake up child, please wake up," she said to him.

She held Connor close, keeping her sword raised. Striking back she managed to catch the Mother across the face, shielding Connor from the arm blade. She suffered a slash across her back and screamed.

_"You both struggle in vane!" _the Mother said.

**"YES! BOTH OF YOU IN VANE!"**

The Desire Demon cackled as she came down from the ceiling. She knocked Daenerys away from Connor, lifting the boy over her head.

**"HE IS MINE AGAIN!" **she yelled.

A fist suddenly slammed into her face, and Connor fell onto Daylen's shoulder. The Mother jumped at Daylen, and he rolled to the side, dodging her strike. Then the Stranger created a bladed whip, lashing it at Daylen and striking him across the chest. The Desire demon rushed at the Stranger, only for him to swing his sword around and behead her.

_"He is ours, and you, unwanted child, will be lost, forever!"_

The Mother's robes wrapped around her body, returning it to a form of beauty and perfection. She created a searing, burning light, and the Stranger threw from his hand a great smog. Daylen placed Connor on the ground and stretched his arms out, layers of ice, mana and rock covering his back. The great blast that the creatures threw slammed into him, melting the floor behind him. Daylen's knees buckled for a moment, the back of his head melted, his ribs and spine were exposed and his arms hung off of their sockets.

In the waking world, Daylen yelled his arms flailing, red marks glowing across his body.

"Daylen!" Irving seethed.

"Daylen," Alistair called out.

In the Void, Daylen's body crumbled, and in its place was a shadow. Like a ghost it wordlessly turned towards the two figures.

_"You have an unhealthy determination, it seems it's what landed you in trouble in the first place," _the Mother said.

"That is enough," Daenerys said, stepping between the figures and Daylen.

_"You cannot save them!"_

"I will!"

_"You are nothing but a baby dragon, a relic of a dying nation!"_

The Stranger threw his hand forward, again conjuring the smog. Daenerys looked over her shoulder, seeing Daylen finally fall to his knees. She saw him change, from this Undead mess, to a scarred man. Then an optimistic teen, and then a smiling boy. She wanted to know this person, this man whom bore such pain and determination. That same determination burned in her as she turned to the Mother and her champion. Saving the boy was on her mind, making up for the murder of her niece and nephew, the death of her brother and all the wrongs that had been done to her family since.

"I am...Daenerys Targaryen!" she said.

The dye on her hair crumbled like ash, and her bright platinum locks grew and shined so bright that they illuminated the room. In her mind she could hear the roar of a dragon. And even though she did not have a dragon, yet, she knew that she was still master of the fire. Throwing her hands forward, fire suddenly shot out of her hands. The fire expanded as it hit the smog, and consumed the Stranger, burning away his clothes to reveal a skeletal shadow. That shadow seeped into the floor, leaving the Mother alone.

"And with fire and blood, my will shall be done," she said.

_"FUCK YOUR FIRE AND BLOOD BITCH!" _the Mother cackled.

She drew on the light again and unleashed it on Daenerys. Daylen raised his head, his eyes glowing red. Then he looked towards the Desire demon's head, his eyes taking on a purple glow. He extended his fingers, beckoning the head to come to him. A ghostly apparition flew from the head and merged with Daylen's shadow. Suddenly there was a crackle of electricity and Daylen's body began to reform.

But what Daenerys saw. What Fausten and Viserys saw, through the House of the Undying had the vaguest resemblance to Daylen. His skin was grey and had marks glowing across it like hot magma. The man's lower body was his traditional armour and robes, but a halo of electricity glowed around his demonic skin. Horns had extended from his head and he snarled.

**"Yes, now this is Desire, this is WHAT I WANT!" **the Desire demon spoke through Daylen's mouth.

He threw his hand forward, releasing a wave of shadows that enveloped the light. The Mother threw of her robes and flew at Daylen with her blades drawn.

"No, no," Fausten shook his head, looking at the demonic Daylen. "Not him, he can't have, my boy cannot have lost himself!"

Connor opened his eyes, seeing Daylen's back, seeing him hold back the Mother with blades of mana he had created. He gasped in horror as Daylen looked over his shoulder, his eyes appearing as they once had before. It was for the briefest moment, but enough for Connor to see who the mage was and realise what he had done for him.

**"Such sweet feelings you have for that red headed woman, oooh, and the fantasies about Morrigan, I bet even you didn't know how you felt about her," **the Desire demon laughed.

Daylen pushed the Mother back, the mana blades fading as he brought his hands to his head.

**"What? No, you can't resist, we're joined now boy, joined you understand! And I'll do such delicious things with your desires, hero? You'll be better than a hero after I'm through!"**

"DAYLEN!"

The voice came out of nowhere, it was not one that Daenerys recognised. A man's voice, stern yet fatherly.

"My boy remember, keep your wits about you!"

Then came a second voice, determined and reassuring.

"You can save him Day, I know you can!"

Finally a woman's voice, loving and devoted.

"My vision was not wrong, you are our hope!"

Daylen's hands shook as he snarled. He shook his head before digging his nails into his forehead. Black blood began to fall onto the floor as he dug his hands into the flesh, yelling in rage.

**"No, NO! THIS ISN'T POSSIBLE! Unless...you allowed me only to partially possess you, SMART LITTLE BASTARD!" **the Desire Demon screamed, her ghostly form appearing over Daylen.

Electricity surged through Daylen's body, but he persisted in tearing into his own flesh. The Desire demon screamed and her ghost like form recoiled in agony.

"THAT'S IT BOY! THAT'S IT!" Fausten yelled.

And like peeling off a layer of clothing, Daylen ripped off the demonic skin and revealed his human self. He roared like an animal, darkness covering his body, his red eyes shining furiously through it.

"Though darkness may hold you firmly in its grip," Fausten mused, watching his grandson with pride.

The Mother and Daylen clashed, steel and mana blades clanging together. Daylen linked his twin swords together, creating a great sword he used to knock the Mother against the wall.

"You will always seek to use darkness for righteousness, not for glory, not for a crown or honour, but because what you seek at the end of your path, IS RIGHT!" Fausten yelled.

Daenerys watched Daylen lift the sword over his head, empowering it with black flames. Then with a final yell, he crashed it through the Mother, splitting her body in two.

"DAYLEN! COME BACK TO US!" Alistair yelled.

"DAENERYS!" both Viserys and Fausten yelled.

Daylen widened his eyes in surprise as Daenerys took his hand, already holding Connor's. She smiled as the light engulfed them both.

* * *

Daylen looked at his hands, they had returned to normal. His whole body had returned to normal. And he was not in the Fade anymore, but a dark room, a castle perhaps. He looked around, his eyes resting on the woman he saw in the Void. Her hair was brown again and she was stood beside a man who could have been her brother. Then there was a third one in the room, a more familiar man.

"Grandfather," Daylen gasped.

Fausten smiled, looking at Daylen and seeing truly the man he had become.

"Well done my pride, you have fulfilled that oath you made under the moonlight," he said.

"Oath? No, that wasn't part of it, saving Connor was the right thing to do, it's what anyone should have done," Daylen said.

"That is why the very act of it makes you a hero, my boy, do you intend to spend the rest of your life trying to do good?"

"I will try, to do good and to save others, from the Blight, from a bandit, from a lord, from a king if need be, I will try to save others!"

"There it is, that beautiful determination," Fausten opened his arms as he approached Daylen.

But Daylen pushed his hands aside, shocking Viserys and Daenerys. A dark look crossed Fausten's face.

"You saw it didn't you?" he asked.

"What you intend to do to the Dothraki people? Yes I did!" Daylen narrowed his eyes at Fausten. "I didn't want to believe that it was you. I wanted to believe that you were alive for a good reason, that there was something wrong with Robert Baratheon's rule."

"You haven't met his heir," Fausten huffed.

"I want to believe that you'll see the folly, the evil in what you're planning to do. Bringing war to Westeros, destroying the Dothraki," Daylen seethed.

"Avenging Damion's death, saving Westeros from Lannister domination, freeing slaves and destroying a culture not worth preserving," Fausten stated.

"You're wrong, I could be wrong too, neither of us has the right to decide whether a culture should continue to exist or not. All I can say is that cultures and religions change with the times. The Dothraki, they may be able to change if given the chance to. As for the Baratheon and Lannister rule, can you honestly say that the Targaryens were any better? No offence to you two I'm sure you're great, being weasel like, threatening a pregnant lady and getting turned on by a very horrible death," Daylen explained, looking over at Daenerys and Viserys.

"I am Viserys Targaryen, my sister and I will one day be rulers. You saw what we could have been, and it is my vow here and now that I will not be that man," Viserys said.

"Your eyes almost makes me believe you, but actions must speak louder than words," Daylen said as he turned.

"You turn away from me, will you not embrace me whilst you can?" Fausten asked.

"No!" Daylen said coldly.

"You would choose a race of murderers and rapists over your own grandfather?" Fausten demanded.

"What do you think all conquerors start off as, the founders of Kirkwall, Ferelden, Orlais, Westeros, they were no different. I choose the children who don't know any better, the children who have a chance to be better, isn't that what everyone should strive for, to be better? That's what it means to a true warrior, a true hero, to strive to be better, I had a grandfather who understood that once," Daylen explained.

"Daylen Amell," Daenerys said, stepping forward.

Daylen didn't turn, but his actions did nothing to waver the determination in Daenerys's voice.

"I swear, that so long as I am Fausten's queen, then he will never commit genocide against the Dothraki people. As a queen, the children and women of the Dothraki will be under my protection, as will those whom swear to fight for the Targaryens," she explained.

"And so long as I am king, I will be better than that vision we saw, I will be better than my father," Viserys said.

He vowed, both dragons vowed and Daylen shook his head, but smiled.

"Find your own reasons to take back your throne, not my grandfather's revenge," Daylen said.

Fausten grit his teeth together, then stomped his foot forward.

"You will reject a friend because of their want for revenge Daylen, you will drive a friend away and one day find yourself sharing in their feelings when those you love are taken from you. If you continue to walk this path of heroism you will suffer and be proven a hypocrite," he explained.

"I will not fear the future, but I'll doubt the righteousness of my actions, that's what it means to be someone whom tries to do good. And I will never stop trying!"

Daylen disappeared and Fausten fell to his knees. He had felt rejected, felt as if he had lost his grandson for good. But also, he had never felt prouder of him.

* * *

Redcliffe

Alistair and the others waited outside, waited for Daylen to come back in. Isolde screamed with joy, holding her son tightly when he woke up. Daylen emerged from the room with his arm draped over Irving's shoulder.

"Thank you, all of you for believing in me," he said.

Alpha toppled him and Irving to the ground, licking Daylen's face.

"Beast you brought me down as well," Irving snarled.

Alistair, Leliana, Wynn and Zevran laughed whilst Morrigan shook her head and Sten simply crossed his arms together.

'Hero of Redcliffe' was the name that would forever live in the hearts of the people of that village.

None more so than Kaitlyn and Bevin, she would dedicate herself in the coming days to helping others in the Chantry, put off from joining the sisterhood only by her growing affection to Teagan. Bevin himself felt so inspired that he swung the green blade in the yard, determined to practice and one day become a warrior. None more so than Owen, whom would sober up and always hug and kiss Valena in the morning, grateful to have her alive. Valena, pushed by her brush with death would dedicate herself to appreciating her father more, and learning his trade to better support him. None more so than those whom resided within Redcliffe's tavern at one time. Berwick, whom would leave Redcliffe and dedicate himself to helping pilgrims on the road, having come to like helping others. Bella, having gained more strength from the encounter with the dead, would become more popular and loved than Lloyd and become the most successful woman in Redcliffe.

None more so than Connor. Despite his mother's protest, Connor insisted.

"One day, I will master myself, and become as great a mage as the man who saved me!"

Next Chapter 19: The handmaid and the knight

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, if not for the bitter reunion between Fausten and Daylen. Next time will be a Leo focus chapter, whilst Terra finally lands in Ferelden.


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